#it seems very obvious to me AND in line with lower decks thinking

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

fools: the tuvix situation is like the star trek version of the trolley problem! you're either letting two dear friends die to allow this new, third person to live, or you murder the new person to get your friends back me: just create a transporter duplicate of the combined guy and split up one of them fools: ... me: sometimes people are so excited to philosophize they forget that star trek problems get to be solved by star trek science

#unpopular opinion apparently but imo twovix didn't solve shit #they swerved around the actual tuvix problem by creating a new (philosophically easier) problem #but i honestly don't know why no one thought of my solution? #it seems very obvious to me AND in line with lower decks thinking #tuvix #twovix #star trek #lower decks #voyager

[stygianheart]

Dreams and Dreams

I wrote this on a whim. I was thinking about how I rarely hear Sanji talk about the All-Blue anymore, and POOF, suddenly this was made. And I’m bored so I’m sharing it. It’s a short little thing, but still.

————————————————————————

The summer sun beamed on the grassy deck of the Thousand Sunny, coating the Straw-Hat pirates in a peaceful and drowsy warmth. They all sat in a circle, enjoying their chosen beverages and laughing as they told stories—all apart from the young Emperor of the Sea, Monkey D. Luffy, who lay passed out on his swordsman lap. He had eaten too much, as per usual, and was simply resting from food overload.

The awake Straw-Hats were discussing the most random things, from memories to adventures to random dreams they had in the middle of the night. The feeling of joy and relaxation seemed to be radiating from the deck as they chatted with smiles on their faces. But the topic of dreams, no matter how weird it was, brought up a new question from the newest member—The First Son of the Sea Jinbei, a former warlord.

Sanji could see that the fish man was curious about something, and after a few minutes of talking about the weird dream Usopp had about the self-proclaimed god Enel turning into an elephant and rampaging on the Foxy Pirates bots, Sanji decided to speak up. “Hey, Jinbei. You look like you want to ask something.”

Jinbei glanced at the cook in surprise. “Oh, I do.”

“Ask away, it’s not like we’re listening to Usopp’s weird-ass dream.”

“HEY! I woke up in a sweat, alright? It was freaky!” Usopp snapped while Jinbei shifted in his spot.

“Well… I know we all have dreams,” Jinbei said as he took large swig from his booze. “Luffy made sure that his crew is full of people with dreams that they will strive for. He himself has a dream, but we don’t know exactly what that is… but what are yours?”

“Oh, I love this conversation!” Chopper exclaimed happily. “Zoro, you go first!”

“Greatest swordsman.” Zoro stated simply. “I’ll beat Mihawk one day and my name will reach the heavens.”

“I’ll make a map of the world!” Nami exclaimed, her pen coming to a stop. “The whole world. Not one island will be left off, not one land being uncharted. It will be the first, I swear it!”

Usopp crossed his arms and grinned. “I’ll be a brave warrior of the sea, and I’ll make sure I can be trained by Elbaf warriors, you hear me?”

“To cure all the diseases in the world!” Chopper piped up, lowering his glass of milk. Sanji wanted to reach forward and wipe away the milk-mustache on the reindeer’s face, but Zoro beat him to it. “I’ll create a cure for everything!”

“Well, I want to read the Rio Poneglyph,” Robin mused, looking up from her book. “I have since a very young age.”

“This ship.” Franky declared when Robin went silent. “It’s going to go on the best adventures, and it’s going to reach Laugh Tale. This ship right here will be more famous than the Oro Jackson and the Moby Dick, I can promise you that!”

Brook lowered his tea cup and looked thoughtful for a second. “I’ll make it all around the Grand Line and New World. I’ll see everything, at least once, before going to meet Crocus again. I have a meet up with the large whale, Laboon. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him.”

“And you, Sanji?”

All pairs of eyes turned to the cook, drilling holes into his head.

“Please, his dream is obvious!” Zoro laughed. “It’s wo—”

“To find the All-Blue.” Sanji interrupted. 

The crew fell silent for a few seconds. Sanji could see the gears turning in their heads, see them ponder what he had said.

The Mosshead spoke first.

“The what?” Zoro asked with raised eyebrows, scoffing as he took a swig of his booze.

Sanji stared at Zoro with obvious scrutiny, scowling slightly as the swordsman tossed an arm around the back of the chair. “The All-Blue, dipshit.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought your dream was being in a brothel. I was sure it changed.”

“It’s not!” Sanji snapped, chucking a plate at the swordsman’s head. God, did everyone think that lowly of him?? He understood why, sure. He loved women, maybe more than he should. But he obviously had his reasons.

“I don’t think I’ve heard about this dream of yours, Sanji.” Brook said with a jolly yohohohoho! 

“Me neither,” Franky and Jinbei said in unison.

Anyone would be able to see the sparkle in Sanji’s eyes as he leaned back. “The All-Blue. It’s… it’s an out-there dream. A stretch. No one even knows if it’s real. But if it is—and I know it is!—it’s out here, in the New World.” He gripped the fabric of his pants tightly, a dorky smile rippling on his face. “It’s a place where the four Blue Seas meet. All these marine species get to live together in harmony—fish you would only find in the North and South or East and West, all together. Species that haven’t even been discovered are rumored to be there, hidden away from humanity and holding tastes that man has never had the pleasure of witnessing. It’s a haven, a euphoria for cooks. The water is supposed to be as clear as a diamond, as pure as fire and cleaner than anything you have ever seen. It’s a cooks paradise—it’s my paradise.” He could see it in his head—the rippling water, gentle waves. The crustaceans and invertebrates living together without a care in the world. An untouched ecosystem that he could only dream of. Sanji could feel the scales of the fish under his fingers, smell the salt water and hear the ripples in the water. Oh, how his heart beat at the idea of the All-Blue. How his face broke into the most genuine grin of his life, how he looked so love struck—not even the most beautiful woman could put that smile on the cooks face.

“It’s supposed to be a myth. It’s supposed to be a child’s fantasy, a place found only in imagination.” Sanji’s smile softened. “No one believes in it. They say finding it is a waste of energy and time. Everyone laughed at me—all until our Captain came along and encouraged me.” His hands curled tighter. “The All-Blue is out there. I know it, and I will find it, and I will make the most delicious dishes from that untouched water. And you know who will be the first to taste it?” His audience shook their heads. “Owner Zeff and Luffy. They are the ones who believed in me. They are the ones who encouraged me.” His smile widened once more. “That’s the All-Blue. That’s my dream!”

Zoro scoffed and leaned back. “Sure, whatever.” The swordsman muttered, but even he was smiling the slightest bit from seeing Sanji like this.

Brook laughed while Jinbei leaned forward. “Tell me more about the All-Blue, Sanji-kun.”

The cooks heart soared as he looked around at the Straw-Hat pirates. They all looked so interested, so invested. 

They believed in his dream.

And he believed in them.

Sanji laughed and shifted in his spot, trying to get comfortable. They would be here for a while. “So I first heard about it…”

#straw hat sanji #black leg sanji #straw hat pirates #dreams #all blue #vinsmoke sanji #well not vinsmoke #he’ll never be a vinsmoke he made that clear

[horta-in-charge]

Content Warning: Contains 18+ content MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, spoilers for DS9 S7 E6 Treachery, Faith, and the Great River, explains how Weyoun 6 is alive in the other parts of this series, I used episode dialogue and it does not belong to me please don’t sue me, my OC is very uncomfortable, out of body experience, sensory weirdness, references to religion and religious figures, my OC is an atheist which in this case just means she doesn’t subscribe to any religion but unfortunately knows immortals are real, if you read Broken Covenant you know she can’t go to any location moving at warp without help, forced choice scenario but it’s not sexual, Greek Mythology, telepathic communication.

Author’s Note: I listed everything I could think of, please let me know if I missed anything. One (1) Librarians reference this time though! However it’s also in regular lexicon so it shouldn’t make too much of a difference. Telepathic communication is in ‘’ and italicized. Regular italics are just normal thoughts. Thanking @deepspacedukat for dealing with my askbox shenanigans, advice, and this pretty gif and @heavensamralime​ for their help on Discord. Love you Bug!!! 

Rainbow Rider

In Appalachia, an old couple sat on the floor in a darkened room, a table between them as they shook a cup of bones. When the bones fell from the cup, the reading was unmistakable.

In New Orleans, a vampire saw songbirds’ wings beat out patterns while they cut across the dusky sky.

In Rome, an octo-centenarian set of tarot cards refused to give any other readings, even after the owner had cut and stacked the deck.

In the White City, Shangri-La, monks read their tea leaves and sat silent.

In Machu Picchu, the wefts of ancient looms wove new lines without aid.

On DS9, she scratched her ankle using her booted foot, and almost cursed that her holosuite reservation was tomorrow on her day off, because she needed a good swim. The ravens behind her ears were unmoving as usual and the adder on her arm was still. The paperwork, however, seemed to multiply while she blinked, not that there was any real paper at all. Just files… and reports… and requisitions… and charts. If only she wasn’t so itchy! 

Nothing particularly exciting was going on. Unless she counted Odo’s trip to pick up an old source, but that wasn’t actually doing anything to take her mind off of the incessant need to scratch her ankle. It hadn’t been this bad since she’d been stationed on Starbase 375 during the war when she’d served as a trauma surgeon in its hospital wing. Holodeck time was precious and while she did get more than the average staff did, it still wasn’t enough to prevent her from feeling itchy, and even worse, occasionally sick. 

Since nothing topical would work, she pursued her duties head on as an attempt to distract herself. She reached for her glass of sea salt water and took an undignified swig while reviewing swing shift’s physical records. For the most part, everyone seemed in good shape. A few people were low on iron, one on calcium, and someone else needed their potassium dosage lowered within the next week. She made a note and sent all of this to Drs. Jurati and Bashir as they would be more likely to see any of these patients than she was. Hardly anyone came into sickbay at this hour unless something was horribly wrong or Julian wanted to work on an experiment- and that was assuming he’d left after his shift ended. Her Bajoran nurses, although to be fair there weren’t any Starfleet nurses on the station, were attending weekly services and would clock in about an hour from now.

There wasn’t any obvious foreshadowing. Just a natural sense kicking in that someone was there. It wasn’t just any someone- it was Iris. She turned in her swivel chair to face the lesser goddess, though only lesser because she wasn’t one of the main twelve, she was still a goddess in all things. She stood to receive her.

‘I have come with a message, little one.’ While it was slightly irksome to be called little, in this case, it was not insulting whatsoever. She was little in all ways except height.

‘Who has sent you?’ Maybe questioning a goddess wasn’t exactly the best idea, but it’s not like she came with an address stamped onto her forehead. Beware of strange mail, as they say.

‘Eunomia and Eirene send this message,’ Two of the Horai - Good Order and Peace- but no justice. ‘Do you accept it?’

‘Yes.’ Without warning, the goddess grasped her shoulder, and she split in half. Or perhaps three-quarters. It was strange, being in two places at once. The visibility of her in one place, but the physicality in another. She looked down at herself and saw nothing, but felt everything. Every sense accounted for her surroundings. She was on the Rio Grande. A Weyoun was on the monitor speaking absolute lies, or at least to her they were. 

“-Please have a safe and pleasant journey back to Deep Space Nine.” Odo was cradling another one of Weyoun’s clones in his arms. This one was grievously ill. She moved and caught his hand, holding it as she felt his body suffering from whatever poison he had taken. 

“They say voluntary termination is quick and painless, I’m afraid it's not true.” While he spoke, she manipulated the water in his body to hydrolyze the leftover poison into non-lethal compounds. Every single molecule of him vibrated on a frequency she knew and yet didn’t, but that mattered little because she could map it better than any tricorder ever could. 

“I’ll get you a pain suppressor-” Odo was speaking now, as she tried to undo some of the damage the poison had caused, she felt almost like she had endless energy, no doubt given to her by Iris, who she could still feel holding onto her shoulder.

“That won’t be necessary, but there is one thing you can do for me.” Weyoun’s body was still in critical condition as many of its systems were damaged. Fortunately, the extra energy was helping her heal him faster, but she could only do so much with what little spare water he had in his tissues.

“What’s that? 

“Give me your blessing.”

“I can’t.” Good job Odo! At least you’re keeping him alive enough to beg you for it. 

“Please, Odo. Tell me I haven’t failed. That I’ve served you well.” Well I’m certainly going to fail if he dies, keep him talking Odo! 

“You have. And for that you have my gratitude…” Almost there you Vortan son of a bitch! Stay with me here- you foppish, pointy eared diplomat! “... and my blessing.” Weyoun went limp almost instantly from his catharsis, and Odo held him, not knowing what to do. Fortunately, Weyoun had passed out, which was great for her because now she wasn’t using as much of his own stored energy to help heal him by fighting his own biology. She only needed her own. 

When the water levels in his body were as used up as they could be to heal him safely, she let go. Let’s hope he makes it back to the station. Odo did go to all this trouble to try and help him, unwittingly, but at least he did decide to bring him along. Not to mention the Horai. She was pulled back into her own body, and once she settled, Iris let go of her. The goddess disappeared in a flash of rainbow. 

She grabbed her water glass and drained it in one large gulp, then crossed the room to the replicator and ordered herself a bag of saline. The glow as it materialized was pretty. She took it out and then put the glass in and watched it disappear at the touch of a button. She pulled a metal straw out of her pocket dimension and stuck it into the bag like a juice box and drank ravenously. It too disappeared into the replicator, and the metal straw back into her pocket once she’d forced every last drop of saline into her body. 

When the nurses came, she was doing paperwork. 

When Weyoun came, she was fast asleep in her own bed.

When her shift came, he was in his new quarters resting.

On Earth, the readings went back to normal.

#weyoun 6 #constable odo #odo #weyoun #star trek deep space 9 #star trek deep space nine #in office #ex terra sirena

[lastoneout]

“He just joined up with like Starfleet Black Ops, that’s still technically the good guys, right???”

I don’t watch Star Trek media save for lower decks, but aren’t black ops SPECIFICALLY meant for shady stuff (if not utter fucking atrocities) that can’t be connected to the military/navy/etc. for fear of sullying their “respectable” reputation? That’s pretty evil (maybe I’m just paying too much attention to the evil laugh).

Also lower decks has been sending the not so subtle message of “twust the systewm uwu”, and consistently portraying star fleet (space navy? Idk) as the “good guys” which just seems like bullshit to me, but then again this is just my two cents as a non-trekkie.

Nah that's fair, I haven't really seen a whole lot of Trek that portrays Section 31 so I'm not entirely sure exactly how they operate, it's entirely possible Clone Boimler is gonna be getting up to some Morally Grey shit, it's just that when someone says "oh he's evil" my first thought was "he's a spy or traitor or not even actually a transporter clone" not that he just joined a different, less squeaky clean branch of Starfleet.

Especially since like, his story still doesn't add up?? There's no way Boimler of all people, clone or otherwise, could have made it out of that situation so quickly or like...at all? He was trapped under rubble and there were Packleds 2 seconds away from stabbing him to death plus the exit was blocked?? Lower Decks had set up the expectation that even the little details are important in the previous season, so having such an obvious plot hole just led me to believe it was on purpose and Clone Boimler was going to turn out to be evil, especially with all the "what's going on with the Packleds really is someone helping them behind the scenes" plot line set up. It's genuinely disappointing for them to just be like "yeah nah don't think about it to hard he's not evil/fake/a spy" when anyone with a brain can see that his story doesn't add up.

And the rest of season 2 kinda gave me the feeling that the writers were like, suffering under their own format's restrictions? They seemed to WANT to tell deep, intriguing stories with drama and plot twists and character conflicts that lasted more than one episode but they couldn't because they were a comedy cartoon that only gets ten twenty minute episodes per season. And sadly in this season it kinda feels like their solution has just been to more or less give up.

(And yeah in season 1 they really had set up the idea that this show was going to be about, in part, how Starfleet ISNT perfect and how they do fuck up a lot and that seemed to be an integral part of Mariner's character, like what it was like for someone who was disillusioned with Starfleet due to something in her past, but that also hasn't really gone anywhere which blegh. I liked the concept of a character like Mariner who takes issue with Starfleet fundamentally but still sticks with it, but they gave that up in favor of her just needing to rely on her friends more, which is development, but not really as interesting as what they initially teased.)

But that's just my take, yeah Section 31 is still shady so Clone Boimler def is more morally grey than Original Boimler, but the show hasn't done enough to make Starfleet seem morally grey for me to believe he's really Evil(tm). And hey overall the episodes are still enjoyable(except for the Peanut Hamper one god I hated that episode so fucking much) and so if this is the status quo I can live with that. It's just all turning Lower Decks into a show akin to Miraculous Ladybug, where I'm more in it for what it could be, not what it currently is, you know?

I just wish Clone Boimler was actually a spy or something. That would have been cool.

Edit: also not a fan of how this season it making it seem like the solution to Mariner's likely very legitimate, fundamental issues with the way Starfleet operates is that she just needs to just blindly trust authority more. Like...ehg feels kinda weird :/

#lower decks spoilers #lower decks season 3 spoilers #lower decks salt #spoilers #long post

[sashi-ya]

think about zoro blushing

Zoro's Birthday Surprise ~

tw: suggestive language. The video HAS audio. It's from Thriller Bark, I just cropped the scene and added blush to his cheeks.

wc: 800~

It’s rare for the swordsman to blush, to even react at others... Yet every time you touch him he does. Even the slightest touch, the stealthiest graze. He jolts, and his tanned cheeks turn into fire. The red tint that covers his nose balances perfectly his cuteness with his toughness.

A nervous cough escapes his mouth if you simply bump him with your shoulder… Not even booze makes his skin turn as crimson as your touch.

“Happy birthday, Zoro!”

Another birthday with the crew, and even if he doesn’t smile he is so deeply happy, he feels so lucky to have you all. The guys have given him booze, a lot of. Sanji has baked a cake for him made entirely of rice and king sea meat. Brook plays pretty melodies over the deck of the Thousand Sunny Go. The moonshine over you is enough to light up the whole Grand line, it looks like ice… like an ice moon. As icy as his steel eyes, as icy as his countenance.

Yet, just one of your touches could make his ice melt as fast as the blink of an eye…

“Zoro-kun, happy birthday” you grab his wrist so softly. Steel grey eye fixes on yours, the red tint all over his cheeks once again. “T-thank you, (Name)” he stutters. “I have your present, but I can only give it to you when everybody goes to sleep… wait for me outside when the lights are off” you say, letting his hand go and walking towards Chopper who is calling you.

If Zoro’s left eye wouldn’t be permanently wounded he would have opened it as wide as his healthy one. “I… what?” he thinks, completely confused, ignoring what’s obvious. Because even if Zoro is a strong, sanguinary samurai he is absolutely lost when it comes to these types of approaches.

And of course, the swordsman who is usually the one to fall asleep first even if the music is blasting all around, couldn’t. He was nervous, he was anxious. Not even a good fight with the cook could ease the anxiety your “surprise” was producing in him.

When the lights were finally off and everybody was sound asleep , Zoro couldn’t stop walking all around the deck. He was definitely waiting for you, but if he would have been able to jump off the ship he would have done it.

“Zoro-san” you mumble from behind, slowly passing your arms around his haramaki. His muscles tighten, burning cheeks, short of breath. Your forehead pressed against his back, the green cape smells just like the perfect mix of manly scent and steel. Your finger slowly crawls under his waistband, his warm lower belly feels so soft and yet so hard as his muscles spasms with your touch. You sexily sing “happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you my dear swordsman, happy birthday to you~” while sliding your hand inside his haramaki more and more.

The swordsman stands still for about a minute, enjoying the way your hand traces circles over his stomach until he turns around all of a sudden. Zoro doesn’t lose his cool so often, even during fights, even when his life is at risk… but just now, right now in front of you, for the very first time you saw his lips slightly trembling…

“(Name)...” he whispers with his low manly voice. You simply smile, yet you are absolutely scared too. His calloused hand grazes your cheek, so softly and yet so needy to feel your skin. And all of a sudden the samurai lifts you up from your thighs, strong arms that could lift a mountain, strong arms that you die to have all around you. He sits you over the railing of the ship, fixing his sight on yours. The moonshine making his golden earrings sparkle as they move with each breath he takes, and your finger traces a path over the visible parts of his chest scar biting your lip.

And the waiting for a kiss seems eternal, but it feels so good. The pressure, the tension.

Zoro, takes a deep breath as he prepares for an attack that does not involve any katanas… His lips reach yours in a sudden and quick motion, you grab him by his arms, left hand holding tight the black bandana he has tied to it. Lips pressed, tongues shyly finding each other for the very first time.

By the end of a kiss that went from sweet to a passionate one, you discover Zoro’s cheeks are redder than ever before. He is still not looking at you, yet he has a smile that goes from ear to ear.

“Zoro-san, ready for your present?” you ask. “There is more?”.

And indeed there was…

he eventually stopped getting all flustered, yet his cheeks never stopped being all red and steamy for the rest of the night… ~

#roronoa zoro #zoro imagine #zoro x reader #one piece zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #op zoro #ronoroa zoro #zorororonoa #pirate hunter zoro #kaizoku gari zoro #zoro x y/n #zoro x you #zorojuro #one piece fanfiction #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece x oc #one piece #sashi ya #sashi-ya #wano #wano kuni

[subwaysurf45]

Winter Makes Ice (Ep.3)

Summary:  you’re captured after a brawl at the Avengers building, Bucky and others must save you before Hydra makes a new Winter Soldier out of you, Bucky has given up that title.

Words: 2799

Episode: Three

Warning: not much, flashbacks, talks of violence

Masterlist! Winter Makes Ice Episode: Two

Time: 1:00pm 

Date: October 2nd 2024

It didn’t take long for everyone to board the helicopter and for it to take off, no one was lounging around this morning so they assembled quickly. Bucky sat by himself on the heli, the file was still open in his hands with the page turned to Dr. Wright. Bucky looked over the information that was given; he double and triple checked. There was a car waiting for them when they were going to arrive, Bucky would get dropped off and then Steve, Nat, and Wanda would drive around Halifax but would keep watch for a distress signal. Bucky made it clear it would only be him talking to the doctor, he was practicing his script in his head. 

“Five minutes ‘till landing,” the pilot spoke into his headset, the sound went to their ears sounding like a 1940s radio show. 

“Copy,” everyone replied without unison. 

The plane got lower and lower until it touched the ground; it was a private tarmac for primarily military forces and other important people; SHIELD was always allowed to use it. Everyone got off the plane after the propellers began to slow down, Bucky had jumped off once while they were still at top speed and got flung forward but the air. The all black car stood a ways in front of them, they all took their bags and headed over. 

“What a ride…” Steve muttered as he ran his hand against the perfect hood, this car was brand new and probably had never been in the sun before. It wasn’t a low sport car but rather an everyday car that was bullet proof and decked out with an AI on the inside, no one would take a second glance at it but the four of them marveled at how this car could fit in amongst others. The black rims matched the black tires and the black paint, this was Bucky’s dream car. 

They all got in and the ride began, Steve drove while Wanda sat in the back with Bucky, Nat was in the passenger seat playing her music. Every so often Wanda would look over to Bucky, he could see her out of the corner of his eye, she’d give a sympathetic glance and maybe open her mouth as if she was about to say something but chose against it. Bucky had Dr. Wright’s address on the file sheet; he was giving directions to Steve as they drove through the colourful houses. 

They had never seen houses like this, around four to five houses lined up next to each other, each of them were painted a different colour but they looked the same. Flowers grew in little holders under the two window sills at the front of the house, tulips were the most popular, vines would grow on the side where the sun didn’t shine too much and pain would chip around the bottom of the houses. Some houses still had Halloween decorations up, red leaves scattered on the ground and blew everywhere. There was a brown hue to the world around them, pumpkins were scattered on some door steps while other people still had Christmas lights up from last year. 

Bucky tapped Steve’s head rest and the car slowed to a stop, they looked out to their left to see a house that looked like it belonged to the community. It wasn’t modern and square with sleek grey tiles on the outside, it was old and run down. A ghost hung from the single garage light, one pumpkin was sitting on the doorstep. This house didn’t look like one of a nazi group member, nevermind just a person with their doctorate.

Tons of leaves crunched under Bucky’s combat boots, the road was littered with them, it made it seem like it was a red and yellow road. He looked both ways as he crossed even though no cars were on the road except for the military grade undercover car, Bucky looked over his shoulder to see Wanda waving. They were going to head to a farmers market in this town to pass the time, and Bucky would walk over there when he was done. He gave a thumbs up and the car drove away and down the street, he didn’t watch to see it disappear, Bucky only had one thing on his mind and it wasn’t some apple pies Wanda was looking for. 

The driveway looked new as well as the cobblestone walkway, one car was in the driveway and it looked to match the house, no crazy sports car. There was a screen door before an actual green wooden door, Bucky pulled back the screen and didn’t bother with the doorbell, he banged on the door. When he pulled his fist away there was a flake of green paint on his middle finger’s knuckle, a quick swipe and it was gone. Bucky stood back because he saw that in the movies, his back turned to the door as he looked out to the town. It was a lovely day, most people were probably at this farmer’s market, Bucky had never been to one even though you had offered to take him. 

His head whipped back at the door opening, the same man, but only older, opened the door. He looked tired and worn out, this was probably his last Halloween. The cane he was holding was shaking in his grip, the other hand gripped the side of the door extremely tight. You could see the white through the speckled skin. 

“What can I help you with, son?” the old man spoke with a smile, he licked his gums. A Canadian accent seemed almost cartoon-ish. 

Bucky froze as he looked at this man, the sight of him brought him back to his nightmares and everything he’d been through. The name ‘son’ rolled off this man’s tongue and down Bucky’s spine and sent a shiver running all through him, it was obvious this man didn’t know who Bucky was. Bucky almost felt bad that he was bothering him, it was obvious he wasn’t a walker and standing seemed to be his exercise for the day, but at the same time Bucky couldn’t help but think about all the ways he could rip this doctor apart. 

“Son?” the name came again. 

Bucky looked up with a shake of his head, “hello, are you Dr. Wright?” he asked quietly. 

“Yes it is, what do you need?” he didn’t seem freaked out that Bucky knew his name, it was a small town. 

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” Bucky started but the man didn’t seem to figure it out, “I am the Winter Soldier- used to be actually…” Bucky added. 

“Are you here to kill me?” the man’s voice shook, “because if you really are him then you have every right to do so,” he stepped back and opened the door for Bucky to walk in. 

“I’m here to talk, you’re not going to die.” Bucky walked in and kicked off his combat boots, he’d heard it’s a thing in Canada to take your shoes off in the house. He also heard there was bagged milk which didn’t make any sense to him, but he wasn’t about to argue. 

“That’s always good to hear, eh?” the accent slipped out again, it was weird for Bucky to see this man who haunted him just laughing. “Would you like some hot chocolate?” Dr. Wright asked as he made his way into the kitchen. 

His house was small, not many walls as one room just faded into another. Knick-knacks littered shelves and tables, everything brought a homey feel to it all, the house was very lived in. “No thanks,” Bucky waved up a hand to signal no. 

The doctor came and sat across from him, Bucky was sitting on a chair while Dr. Wright took the sofa, they both were wrapped in plastic. It made a squeaky sound when either of them moved but it didn’t seem to bother the doctor at all, Bucky one final time before swearing he wasn’t going to move again and hear that annoying sound. Both of Bucky’s hands were clasped in front of him, he felt too large and bulky for this petite chair, his fingers fiddled with each other. He’d pick and poke at the massive gloves he wore, his long sleeve was covering everything he needed. 

“So, Dr. Wright-”

“Jacob, son,” he corrected, “though I am a doctor,” Jacob hesitated, “I go by Jacob.”

“Is that your real first name?” Bucky asked, he was met with a smile and nod, “then call me Bucky, please.” Bucky smiled back, there was a growing tension between the both of them but they chose to ignore it. 

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.” Jacob seemed to relax at the name, he was scared of Bucky and Bucky could tell. This man had seen Bucky train for years on end, and Jacob knew what the Winter Soldier was capable of. “What do you need to talk to me about?” his cane rested beside him, his hand found its way there and just held it. 

“I need to talk to you about Hydra, any information you have on the Iceland base- or any base in Halifax, Iceland, Greenland, and there’s one more…” Bucky brought a gloved hand to his stubbled chin, the leather making a rough noise when it brushed against the facial hair. “Oh! It was Newfoundland, anything you knew about those four places.” 

Jacob thought for a moment, he didn’t have stubble to rub. Though he was old it was obvious he still thought that it was the old days, hair slicked back and a very fresh shave, facial hair wasn’t allowed unless you had grown it out in private. Bucky had always remembered Howard Stark’s mustache; he couldn’t picture him without it. 

“I mean, I was just a scientist, I ran labs and tested things on animals. I didn’t come up with the world ending plans, I was never told the reason for what I was doing, I was just told to do it.” Jacob sounded worried, “when I used to work for Hydra I was worried for my life everyday, they were so paranoid all the time that someone could be a rat. If you said ‘hail Hydra’ a little too quietly then you’d have a bullet between your eyes, I just kept my head down and did what I was told.” Jacob’s hand got increasingly tighter on the handle of his cane. 

“Was there something new they were working on?” Bucky asked, and he pulled out a little flip book to keep track. 

“I quit a total of ten years ago, when I was seventy-one, the only thing they were thinking of was keeping you in their grasp, there was no other plan.” Jacob shrugged, “Hydra couldn’t see a life source without you, they never intended on losing you the way they did.” 

“So you have no idea what they could possibly be working on, at all?” the hope Bucky had was falling, this was the only lead they knew and if all he could say was there was never a plan B, you were screwed.

“I’m sorry Bucky, I really want to help, but I just don’t know.” Jacob stood and walked back to the kitchen. He filled a glass of water and grabbed three pills from a container before heading back over to his seat. 

“Out of the four places I mentioned, Iceland, Greenland, Halifax, and Newfoundland,” Bucky paused and watched Jacob mutter them to himself and then take the pills, “which one is the strongest?”

Jacob swallowed his pills with water, “Iceland.” without any hesitation, no second guess, nothing giving away he was lying for didn’t know. “Iceland was hell for me, it has the best of the best for agents, scientists, and…” he glanced out the window, “cells and tourture.” 

Bucky shot up right away, he headed to the door. Jacob followed him, glass still in his hand. When Bucky was about to leave Jacob placed a hand on his shoulder. When Bucky turned back around the hand traveled along the center of his chest, “I'm not wired, Jacob.” Bucky eased. 

“Some things just come second nature, son.” Jacob kept his head down, “y’know, I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I was making my old man proud, but I never stopped to realize what I was doing was actually wrong.” Jacob looked up with glossy eyes, “I actually wanted to find you at some point because I know I was the one who woke you up last, I remember clearly the way you looked, right then, I knew I needed to leave that place.” Jacob shuffled over and stood completely square to Bucky, Bucky just looked down at Jacob with a face of horror. The man Bucky saw every night was crying and apologizing to him, he didn’t know anyone who worked with Hydra had a heart. “I’m sorry for everything I did to you,” Jacob reached in his back pocket, he had placed the glass of water on a side table. “Here, take some money-”

“No, none of that, Jacob, really,” Bucky held his hands out, “you’re forgiven, don’t worry about all that, I just need to find someone.” Bucky reached for the door. 

“What do you mean?” Jacob fished in his wallet. 

“Hydra stole my girlfriend, I think she's in Iceland.” Bucky’s eyebrows knitted together at Jacob who was given him a coin. 

“I think you’re right,” Jacob dropped the coin in Bucky’s palm before closing the door, the screen door creaked as it shut quickly with the wind. 

Time: 2:33pm

Date: October 2nd 2024

Steve, Nat, and Wanda were walking around on the closed road, stands of every fruit and pastry lined the streets. Wanda was on top of the moon, she had a tote bag with some apple turnovers in them, that was really all she wanted. Nat had actually bought something too, Steve was genuinely surprised when Nat bought some earrings from a vendor, they were very small and dainty moons that would go in her ear lobes. Steve didn’t buy anything but just liked walking around, there was a lot to see but in a good way, no screens or jumbotrons, just people being people. 

As Bucky made eye contact with Steve, Steve’s phone rang. Nat and Wanda rushed up to Bucky and were asking how it went, but the unknown caller was what Steve was focusing on. 

“Steve Rogers,” Steve lowered his voice. 

“Captain Rogers,” an all too familiar voice hit his ear. 

“King T’Challa?” Steve turned his back to the group. 

“We have three Hydra agents in custody, they tried to take out my sister,” his accent flowed and bounced as he talked.

“Keep them in the cells, we’re on our way.” 

“Will there be more of them?” T’Challa asked before he could hang up. 

“I don’t know, but hold them and don’t kill them, they might be our only hope.” Steve said his goodbyes and hung up. 

When he turned back to Bucky and the rest of them, they seemed scared, Bucky had overheard Steve’s call, super hearing, and was looking at him weird. 

“What was that?” Bucky asked. 

“King T’Challa, says there was an attempted hit on Shuri, doesn’t know where they came from but they want her.” Steve shoved his phone in his back pocket, “what did you find?” 

Bucky just held up a silver coin, “we’re going to Iceland.” 

“We need to go to Wakanda,” Steve stepped forward. 

“Not all four of us,” Nat pulled everyone aside from the farmer’s market, “I’ll go with Steve to Wakadna, you go with Wanda to Iceland. We’ll be talking and before you ambush the Hydra base in Iceland we’ll confirm y/n is in there, deal?” She looked to the other three. 

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

Winter Makes Ice tag list: @small-death-and-codeine​ @commonintrest​ @buckyys-doll​  @lil-baby-nor

let me know if you want a tag!

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky angst #bucky barnes fluff #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x female reader #bucky barnes series #bucky #bucky x yn #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #winter #winter soldier #winter soldier fluff #winter soldier angst #winter soldier series #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan angst

[janumun]

The Pirate's Symbol(s): NSFW Alphabet [IkeSen Motonari]

Game: Ikemen Sengoku Pairing: Motonari/Female Reader

Rated: NSFW/18+ Words: 2.5k

Warnings: stockings fetish, spoilers for Motonari’s ‘condition’, sexual intercourse, mentions of exhibitionism/semi-public sex, (non-sexual) bondage, innuendoes and dirty-talk, masturbation

Author’s Notes: Motonari’s entire self is a joy, his route gave me some much needed, invigorating enemies-to-lovers, and I officially love him! [Totally swiped my heart right up without warning!]

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Motonari is quick — you’d almost say adept — at sweeping off a cloth, or container, placed by your bedside. Although, your touch and whatever fire you generate in between the two of you does not bother him, he does prefer you both cleaner of the mess and fluids when holding you close in his arms, afterwards.

Wiping up the remnants of your passionate and, often vigorous, activities off of quivering thighs he presses apart, in gentle strokes of damp fibers. Movements of the cloth soft enough it doesn’t shock you into over-sensitivity but not soft enough you relax entirely beneath him, because that scarlet gaze is always fixated on you — your body language. And if you give away even an inch, he’s ready and up for round two (or four). [Bless yer stamina, matey!]

If not, he’s still up and happy to listen to his favorite flower-brained woman’s amusing, outrageous tales she narrates in animated conversation. While he whisks up a quick, invigorating meal for her at the kitchen counter, just as she rests her happy self at the table. Garnet gaze seemingly fixated upon the task at hand — spices being tossed, ladle being stirred, eggs whipped to perfection — but his answers are prompt and alert, although still carrying that insouciant edge. Indicating his attention; equal division in between feeding you and hearing you speak.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Motonari is fond of his mouth, and before you, he didn’t think of it as much of an achievement as he believes it now, when your jittery gaze seeks immediate relief (and lust) as soon as it lands upon that obvious smirk.

A single kiss and your thoughts are all but handed over to him on an elaborate platter. Your cheeks color dark and wide; restless eyes tracing across his mouth. Your own parting; pink tongue darting quick in a swipe across plush lips: all of you demanding more of him.

Yes, he is surprisingly (or not), in touch with a far more emotional side: Motonari adores your eyes, although you’re never hearing it from him. Your entire body speaks of honesty but the way he reads your thoughts so easy, in your gaze, there’s quite nothing as exhilarating or confounding as the love he captures in them. That quick, tight knot of your brow, your anger flaring in your eyes or the equally prompt melting, when he appeases you in gentle teases. He’s been so long used to not trusting that a person he sees this clearly through, and sees how she trusts; it’s not an entirely terrible thing to feel.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

As mentioned above, the man doesn’t particularly care to leave you a mess post-coitus unless you ask it of him; there is little he’s able to refuse you. So when it does come (…heh) to cumming outside of your pussy, your mouth is a pretty (very pretty too) good substitute for him to ejaculate, without having to think of leaving external stains on you. Your throat clamping, then swallowing, around his orgasm, so he feels that slick slide of saliva and semen around him, as you moan.

Yer pretty darn hot, m’lady.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

There are times he descends — quick and furious — into an almost juvenile state of petty jealousy [he realizes the immaturity of it, he just cannot! help! it!] and ends up turning that lust on you, instead.

He’d never actually do it but visualizing — in almost exact, murderous details — how he’d like to drag you into an empty room whenever Kicho gets all up in your face, and fuck you so hard your throat tears through screams lough enough Kicho hears each and every single sound and moan.

Or, clasp your chin in his fingers, whenever Hideyoshi’s a little too close for comfort at an Oda banquet, and kiss you senseless and noisy [pirates crave a flashy exhibition!].

He despises making a show of you to anybody, so that idea only stays in thoughts but also it’s mind-boggling, since it does get him hard on the spot.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Before you, it was only ever through terrible necessity (extremely dire straits) that he — if ever and very sparing — sought casual sex. The occasions hadn’t been plenty and he’d be frighteningly specific about how he wanted to take a woman to bed.

Bathed, no make-up, no perfume, no scented products or jewelry — anything extra that he could accidentally touch and trigger a reaction. A clean, unscented futon he’d provide in a bare room. Any bonds or cloths he could get his hands on (buying his own and discarding immediately after), to tie their limbs, keep their movements limited; Motonari used.

Of course, there’d be the rare prostitute who’d drop immediately after visiting a client, or one who’d perceive his conditions extreme and over-the-top and think they could ‘change his mind’. The moment they’d try and cross the line, he’d fling them off, almost violently, heart racing, sweat marking each inch of exposed skin. Nauseous and barely tapped, before he’d stride out of the room.

He’s also witnessed open and perverse brothels — and corrupt seething dens — where men and women fuck, for all to see, in his line of work, so he’s no stranger to how sex works for others either.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He’s learning to let go and touch (just you) without the added barrier of gloves and since you so seem fond of his hands on you, Motonari likes any positions that allow his hands to move your body upon his; he isn’t picky.

Palms curved upon your hips so that your ass slaps against his pelvis each time he pulls back, the movements of his cock into and out of your pussy — a place you are both connected and he likes that. Or even when he can spread your thighs wide, press them apart before hooking his hands over your abdomen and just focusing on moving.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s a pirate he’s a vortex of a man and slips all over the spectrum. Motonari’s goading is far softened with minimum barbs, when he’s in(side you) in bed with you. More velvet — than leathery — questions, soft smirk-y and probing,: “Ya like that, flower girl?” —as his mouth hovers just close to your ear, nose barely touching and tucking sweat soaked strands away from your temple. Definitely lands firm and midway between too serious and entirely silly. But he’s all focus on you, make no mistake.

He’s still got a filthy mouth on him, but dirty romantic liners are more his style, in bed (he wants you warmed as well as turned on!), in contrast to the complete indecent filth he threatens you with (a good time!) when the two of you are out and about.

“Pipe down, m’lady. The way yer moaning, they’re gonna think I’m fucking ya, right on deck.” Those eyes are burnished rubies; smile wide, crooked and unashamed, as he ducks close. “But maybe ya feel like putting on a show.”

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s clean down below (and silver-haired, yes) — he doesn’t go the ‘complete waxed up, no-hair in sight’ route, but rather prefers keeping his hair short-trimmed and well-groomed.

He’s also kept his pubic hair short and neat, for the rare occasions he does have sex, and an unkempt mass down there would leave him more likely and exposed to his partner’s fluids staying on him. He despises that.

Motonari doesn’t mind blood, dirt and grime on the field, nor the brine of the harsh sea sticking to his skin, but as soon as he’s done with — or in between — jobs, he takes the time to wash and clean himself up thoroughly.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

[Also see G=Goofy] Motonari isn’t short with words of love. He isn’t reciting romantic poems but he is quick to let you know, in exact words, how much he loves you — and is loving being inside you — in the moment. Barriers definitely lower themselves — not all down, not completely back up — with this man, in bed.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

(As also mentioned in E=Experience) the man, previously, has sought intimacy only and only out of desperate necessity and when his hand is just not enough for him to relieve himself of his lust. Motonari, before you, jacked off, multiple times within a week, sometimes thrice (or more) in a single day. His desires, usually amped, following a particularly unsatisfying battle or raid.

After you, he still does take time off for some self-lovin’ (remember: stamina for daaays, and you’re mostly unable to match him so he makes do), just not as much as he used to, in the past.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

You and Motonari share a love for (clothing) imports from the seas beyond. He’s always up for sharing and discussing trade secrets, doling out clothing advice and helping you work out modern clothing from whatever fabrics are available to you.

Stockings might be one of his favorite products.

The fabric feeling absolutely exquisite against his palms when he rounds you close into his grasp, stood in between his spread thighs as he observes and hums beneath you, seated. A harmless joke you make, about a stocking fetish and the ensuing explanation soon after, has him grinning and dragging you down to test the material against his teeth.

“Yer sayin’ I got a thing for yer fancy underclothes? Heh, don’t think so. Seeing you in it just makes me wanna tear it all off, meu docinho de côco.”

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere you’re afforded privacy; although a little flirting with danger is good and being pinned in between the door and his body. Watching you try and smother your moans into your sleeves, skews that grin wider, that cock harder.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. He’s got a dirty mind, it’ll do the rest of the work when its got its catalyst: you.

Nothing gets you results faster than being honest with Motonari, or expressing your affections (even chaste) for him.

Tell him he looked especially handsome, earlier on a job out: with his hair slicked back and how hard it was for you to have held back from kissing him, on the spot. That you love him—

He’s on you so fast.

“That brain’s just gotta keep sprouting its flowers, huh.” He murmurs, tugging at your chin to swipe his tongue into you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Despite his treatment of you very early on in his route (the collar, the slavery deal), Motonari’s not into putting a collar on a person, romantic or otherwise. Collaring and hearing you call him your Master wouldn’t do much for him, playful or not.

He’s had to live a great chunk of his life as the Beggar Prince; experienced the devastating dregs of human society, including and not limited to being treated as one inferior, and having to watch people around at the very mercy of corrupt lords.

In retrospect, it isn’t something he might take pleasure in, in the bedroom.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving or receiving, both take some getting used to within the bedroom. He finds the taste of you pleasant, when he withdraws wet digits from inside you and takes a careful swipe of the clear fluid across his skin. And has expressed interest in, and gone down on you several times.

Receiving gets a bit more gentle coax-y and requires reassurances, with Motonari. He doesn’t particularly like seeing his release all over you. Having to work through those barriers of his mind, but once he allows you, he does enjoy the slow kisses, and the soft slide of your mouth against him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

His default setting is rough and furious. The two of you are usually frustrated passion by the time you actually get to his bedroom (he likes to prod and poke much too often in public, get you riled) so there’s only one way to go and it’s up. He’s spreading your thighs apart with none too gentle hands as he pushes through and into you, your own hold on him, white knuckled and almost delirious with the way his hips rock into you and his cockhead scraps across your front wall with his onslaught.

At times, however, especially after a high-risk mission; when he’s been close enough to stare Death in the face and survive, he likes to take his time being inside you, just being able to feel you. Once, twice, several times, he’s keeping you beneath, or mounted on top of him, coaxing your hips and your moans.

“Don’t look at me like that, flower girl. I’m alive, ain’t I? Com’ere. I’ll take those tears of yers.”

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Definitely! Any time he can have you, or get you close enough in private, you’re going to be fucking each other. He loves those little breathy, moan-laughters you make in half-panic/all arousal, each time he drives up to grind your hips close together, stuffed into a hallway closet.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Semi-public quickies are a thing and the closest to risky as he gets. As mentioned previously, he’s demanding enough over you, he doesn’t like men Kicho touching you, let alone hearing you when you sound like that.

Other kinks, most kinks, he’s down to try with his favorite dirty, flower-brained woman. He does however, draw the line at any kinks that might involve him using harsh, ugly words to degrade you or your body and/or being soiled.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

All I gotta say is: Pirate’s got stamina enough to power his ships through horn alone, over an entire week!

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Toys translate to external objects. Which are always subject to germs, and need to be (excessively) cleaned by his standards, to keep them useful and usable. That’s far much more work than he’s usually willing to commit himself to.

And he has no need of them. Not when you respond plenty to his touch alone.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

A lot! Motonari’s brand of filthy talk is polished to leave you damp in between the legs. He’s pulling the nastiest most wonderful innuendoes out of the most mundane of tasks.

“Ya like that old weapon?” He might ask of you, as you admire the carvings upon the handle of one of his clan’s katana. “Didn’t know ya liked the feel of handlin’ a sword between yer hands that much, m’lady.”

Leaving your mind reeling and cheeks flushing before withdrawing with a, “What’re ya cooking in that flower brain of yers? Heh... you’ve got a dirty mind.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Heavy, sensual pants against your ears. His groans and grunts enough to fan the fires of your own arousal, to have you ready to come, from just the sounds that can leave his throat. Motonari doesn’t care to be heard outside your boundaries, but he also doesn’t care to withhold his own sounds of pleasure from you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He almost swears (but will never tell you, in very direct words): the space in between your bare breasts smells almost sweet like flowers. He likes finding his way up and nosing in between your breasts — just skin-to-skin contact at a place he finds you’re at your most fragrant. Suckling and tugging at a nipple draws those moans and your scent more intense, so he nips and teeths around the place often.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

That beautiful cock — with the evidence of just enough silver at the base — is long enough it fits and curves snug into you, without entering into any discomforting places, deep. But he is thick enough, it takes you time (and many times) to not just hold your breath and tighten up around him on reflex, upon entry.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

(Read: S)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You’re almost always the one falling asleep first. Pirates are used to night raids and this one’s no different. He does prefer watching you sleep, late into the night, once you fall exhausted into slumber.

End Notes: Thank you for reading!

♧° Link to Master List °♡

#ikesen motonari #ikemen sengoku motonari #ikesen mouri motonari #ikesen motonari smut #ikesen smut #ikemen sengoku smut #ikesen fanfic #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikesen motonari x reader #ns//fw text #a pickle writes

[dukeofriven]

The frustrating thing about these early episodes of Lower Decks (and, for all I know, later ones too), is that seem to be a parody or a riff on the Star Trek that exists in popular consciousness—that it to say that they are parodies for people who watched a few episodes back in 1994 and and maybe saw one or two of the movies. Not people who watched Trek with any kind of semi-serious attention. Take away the incessant reference dropping (that suggests a writer spent an hour a day hitting the random button on the Memory Alpha wiki and copy-pasting article headers into his script) and Lower Decks seems to frequently be a reaction to a Star Trek that never actually existed. I’m on episode 3, and the Very Obvious Riker Stand-In is fighting with Mariner and her rule-breaking, and he has a line about rank being everything: this whole episode seems to hang on him being a slab of meat with a high rank and a cocky attitude. But that’s not a parody of Riker. Riker’s a fucking nerd. Guy plays the trombone and bores everyone he ever dates about jazz (and I like jazz).  Riker mopes about on the Enterprise sulking that Picard keeps taking his place on away missions. Riker’s the guy who repeatedly turns down promotion because rank means a lot less to him than the found family he’s got on the ship he loves. It reminds me of the Abrams movies, which didn’t adapt the characters of The Original Series, the Animated Series, or the first six movies, but instead adapted their one-dimensional counterparts from public consciousness, so Spock didn’t get to be funny anymore, Kirk was a rule-breaking horn dog (which the OG Kirk really, really isn’t—JAMES T. KIRK IS ACTUALLY A PRETT STRICT DISCIPLINARIAN ALL THINGS CONSIDERED). and McCoy said the line about being a doctor not an [X] and then had shit-all to do for three whole movies. They even made-up a reason for his nickname being ‘Bones’ because they didn’t understand that it’s just short for ‘sawbones’ and was a not-uncommon nickname for doctors back in the day, not some strange nickname that was a mystery that needed solving. Lower Decks feels very similar: I don’t understand what I am supposed to be laughing at because it keeps nudging me going ‘get it? Get it? It’s just like when Riker does a thing!’ and I’m over here going “um... no, not really. This isn’t really like Riker at all—I think you’re thinking of Zapp Brannigan, who is already a cartoon character.’

#Lower Decks #Star Trek #Riker #zapp brannigan #TOS #spock #leonard mccoy #james kirk #kirk #TNG

[gumnut-logic]

The Kermadec Whales (Part One)

Spent a good chunk of today writing. Haven’t done that in a while. I’m blaming @gaviiadastra​ for inspiring me to do that :D Thank you ::hugs::

This fic has been floating around my head for some time. It is a sequel to We’ll Be Home For Christmas in that it starts up around seven months after those events and directly references it. However, there is a much bigger fic planned beyond this one that is supposed to be The Sequel. This was supposed to be a one shot that is already 3000 words long and nothing has happened yet ::headdesk::

So here be some boys on a boat again. This time for a very different reason from last time and with extra company.

Warnings for family fluff, a worried Scott, a smart-assed Gordon and about two lines of Virgil/Kayo (not the focus of the fic, but I thought I would mention it because yes, there are two lines in there acknowledging it - though one was said by a snarky Gordon) and the possibility of whales :D

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight​ @scribbles97​ and @tsarinatorment​ for the read through and support :D

I hope you enjoy it :D

-o-o-o-

Scott did not like this at all.

Gordon eyed his big brother as he helped him lower the sensor buoy into the water. Both of them were dressed in IR wetsuits, Scott’s silver baldric replaced with a slash of yellow very similar to Gordon’s, the grey reduced to a thin commander’s stripe either side of it.

Scott was frowning.

Scott had been frowning since Gordon had approached him with this project.

However, Scott was not being particularly verbal as to why he was unhappy.

And that had Gordon worried.

Hell, when had Scott ever been quiet about his opinion? The man yelled at the holoprojector even when it was ancient television show and the actors long dead.

Virgil had had to ban their big brother from watching the news on several occasions in the past just to keep his temper on simmer instead of boil.

But this? This was odd.

Other than a moment of frozen quiet after Gordon proposed the idea, Scott had been supportive. He had authorised the shift of funds, of manpower, even gave Brains and Virgil the time off IR to do the design work needed.

But it was clear he didn’t like it.

And he was hovering.

It was a typical day in the dry season. Clear blue sky with a calm sea and fortunately barely any wind. They couldn’t ask for better weather, actually. The thought of trying this in choppy ocean wasn’t the greatest.

He and his brother were standing on the deck of A Little Lightning. The luxury yacht was still luxury, but both Virgil and Gordon had gotten their hands on it since last Christmas and she was now much more a scientific vessel than a recreational cruiser.

She still wasn’t a Thunderbird, but she had things in common.

The sensor buoy slid beneath the surface. “John, you getting a good connection.”

“Five-by-five, Thunderbird Four.” It was easy to think that his brother’s voice came from space, but no. John was below decks, set up in a communications hub with a subset of the tools he had on Five.

It was odd. This project had brought them all together in the oddest way. No oceanic research had ever drawn the attention of his brothers quite like this.

The answer was obvious.

Virgil.

The events of last Christmas had both fascinated and frightened them all, at least a little. Scott was obviously in big brother protective mode. Gordon had actually relished being able to work with John on this. Communication was his space brother’s speciality and this was definitely in his ballpark.

Sam, of course, had been all over it. The cetacean biologist had been back and forth from Raoul almost as much as Scott had.

Gordon smirked to himself at that. Okay, so he had gotten over the squick of his big bro dating Mel. Scott seemed happy and that was always a good thing.

But Sam, John, Virgil and himself had been the core players in this exercise.

Virgil had been hesitant at first, but his musical brother had become driven since, as if he needed to know the answers, and together they had kitted out A Little Lightning and prepared for this moment.

Scott had been supportive, but he definitely didn’t like it.

Gordon bit his lip.

“Are you boys finished? Virgil is ready.”

Gordon startled as Grandma materialised beside him. A blink. “Yeah, Grandma, John has the connection.”

Their grandmother was the other surprise.

She wanted to be involved in all of it. She even suggested extra sensors they could use. Gordon didn’t realise at the time, but Dr Tracy basically suggested they build in an EEG into Virgil’s wetsuit.

It made sense. How Virgil interpreted what he heard was an important aspect of the experiment. Gordon just hadn’t expected to be pulling that much detail.

But Grandma was the doctor and if Gordon was honest, she appeared to be hovering as much as Scott. Not unheard of, she was their grandmother after all, but between her and his big brother, Gordon was a little on edge.

On top of the tension caused by the experiment itself.

God, he hoped they were doing the right thing.

Sam had reassured him on multiple occasions that this had to be done, that this was going to advance their knowledge by leaps and bounds and open up human-cetacean communication.

Gordon wanted that, too. This was amazing. But there were small doubts gnawing at the back of his mind.

The same small doubts that had him installing sound dampeners in the hull of his yacht to both dull the transmitted engine noise and to prevent Virgil receiving whale song while onboard.

He may be a scientist, but it was still his duty to protect his brother and keep him safe.

Speaking of his brother. “Where is he?”

“I’m here.” Virgil walked out onto the deck dressed head to toe in IR wetsuit. Like Scott, his usual baldric had been replaced with a yellow aquanautical version, a pair of green stripes either side of it declaring him as Thunderbird Two, along with the patch on his shoulder. His left arm sported a wrist control, but this was much larger and covered his entire forearm.

The expression on his face was one of tolerance and it had Gordon smirking.

“Looking buff there, bro.”

Virgil glared at him. Their heavy lifting brother was well built and the wetsuit did absolutely nothing to hide it.

He couldn’t help himself. “I’m sure Tin appreciates the view.”

It was a risk and, honestly, he deserved the finger flick that stung his arm as his sister materialised behind Virgil and made her opinion of that statement very clear. “Watch it fish.”

“Ow.” He rubbed his arm.

“You asked for that one.”

Well, at least Scott was smirking, too.

The things Gordon did for the mental health of these guys. That might bruise. “You’re brutal, Tin.”

Her smug look was tempting dye in her shower rose in the near future.

But she would kill him and….nah, wasn’t worth it.

Maybe he would just eat all her cereal.

And jimmy the kitchen security cam to do it.

Then she would kill him twice.

Damn, she was hard work.

Alan was snorting.

Yes, the whole family, with the exception of Brains and the addition of Sam, was out here today. Mel was supposed to be here, but hadn’t been able to make it. The chips spat all over comms regarding that were enough to aggravate Raoul’s volcano.

“Gordon, they’re five kilometres out, you should get in the water.” John’s voice was its usual calm and informative self.

Gordon glared at his sister and little brother before switching to command. This was his call, his turf and his mission.

Scott was still hovering.

Grandma reached out a hand and drew Scott gently to her side. He glanced at her and Gordon was again left wondering why they were acting like this.

But he had more immediate concerns right now.

A Little Lightning was parked a good five kilometres directly south of Tracy Island. Tracy Peak could be clearly seen to the north and it was a gentle reassurance.

They had been tracking the pod of Virgil’s humpback whales the remainder of the southern summer and autumn. One mother and calf were of particular interest and they had Eos to thank for her attention in keeping pace of their movements. This was an application of Thunderbird Five’s power that they had never considered.

Sam had had a fit when Gordon casually mentioned the detail Eos had gathered on the migration path of the pod. Perhaps Gordon was just too used to the equipment he had at hand, but the data gathering that took very little energy on the AI’s part, plus the advanced sensor array designed by Brains, managed to record more information than any of the Kermadec humpback whale expeditions had in the last thirty years.

Sam’s language may have deteriorated the further he read into the report.

Really, the biologist could still swear like a sailor when needed.

There had been discussions with both Eos and John about further projects assisting the natural sciences.

If John said ‘soft science’ one more time, he was definitely getting dye in his shower rose. Permanent dye. Blue. Long lasting.

“Are we doing this?” Virgil’s voice was quiet, but it startled Gordon nonetheless.

“You bet.”

Virgil stared at him through his helmet for a moment before taking a step towards the back of the yacht.

Scott followed immediately.

A sigh and Gordon hurried after them, followed by the rest of their family.

They had positioned themselves directly in the path of the whales migrating north. Twenty kilometres to the south-east, the mother and calf they had saved from that cursed gill net last summer were now approaching.

So much had happened since Christmas…

So much leading to this moment.

“You ready, John?”

“As ready as we will ever be. I’m receiving mutterings at this distance along the lower registers. It will be interesting to see what Virgil can sense at this distance.” An in-drawn breath. “All sensors are transmitting from his suit. His heartrate is up, but that is understandable. Grandma might want to get down here once he is in the water. She can interpret those readings far better than I.”

Virgil had Scott on one side and Grandma on the other, both fussing in their own subtle ways. Sam stood off to the left looking like he wasn’t sure this was a scientific expedition or a family moment he shouldn’t interrupt.

Gordon sighed. “I’ll send her down.” He quickened his step and waved his arms. “Okay, fangirls, give the star of the show some space.”

That earned him a glare from Scott, but he ignored it. Grandma’s frown was a little harder to shoulder, but the innocent smile he sent in her direction appeared to mollify her at least a little. “John says, you’re needed below, Grandma.”

The frown returned. Okay, so she wasn’t one to take direction much.

“I’ve got him, Grandma.” Scott’s smooth words did something as his eyes caught their grandmother. Enough for her to squeeze Virgil’s arm and with a firm glare at Gordon, make her way downstairs.

“What did I do?” Never hurt to play it innocent.

“Are we doing this?” Scott’s frown was back and it raised Gordon’s hackles.

“Keep your pants on, Commander. Everything is under control.”

“Gordon-“

“Hey, guys.” Virgil waved his arms a little, his left hampered by the equipment strapped to it. “Star of the show here. I’m going to jump in the water and talk to some whales. Feel free to join me once you’ve stopped aggravating each other.” With that, he turned around and stepped off the boat and into the crystal waters below.

“Damnit.” Scott reacted immediately, slamming his own helmet on and jumping after his brother as if the man was drowning.

What the hell?

Gordon put on his helmet with practised ease and, with a puzzled glance at Sam, stepped calmly into the ocean.

-o-o-o-

Part 2

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Grandma Tracy #Sally Tracy #kermadec au #humpback whales

[holykillercake]

One Year

pairing: Zoro x Reader

word count: 2k

summary: No summary this time. I´ll just say this ¨Bartholomew Kuma and Sabaody¨. Read at your own risk. Seriously, ¨KUMA AND SABAODY¨, do you understand?

highlight: ¨Everyone did their best, but no one could have done better.¨

warnings: angst with happy ending; Sabaody Archipelago spoilers (?)

notes: Hey guys! This was a request from @roronoatrash​ in which ¨Zoro who has 0 sense of direction seemed to always find his way back to is s/o, and his s/o only.¨. I really hope you like it!💚 This is also the first time I write a Devil Fruit user, so I'm considering a sequel to develop the character and add more humor.

𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘, 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊!

It was a cloudy and melancholic day in the New World. The men on board were leisurely enjoying their afternoon; some drinking, some napping, some eating. The air was humid and cold, and the tides were strangely calm. No one seemed to care. After all, that was the New World. 

¨Boss!¨ the lookout shouted from the crow's nest ¨Something is falling from the sky! It´s going to land on deck!¨

All men tilted their heads to look at the sky, watching a tiny black spot become bigger and more recognizable.

¨Is that what I think it is?¨ the captain asked himself, not believing his eyes.

¨Boss, is that a girl?¨

¨Yep, I think so.¨

They stood still watching what they suspected was a girl fall from the skies. The red-haired took a quick glimpse at his first-mate and officers, and since no one moved, he felt safe to assume that that was not a threat. Mainly because whatever was falling towards the ship looked dead already. 

The body fell through the main deck and went straight to the lower level of the ship. The captain and his officers stood around the hole on the wooden floor, observing the unconscious and injured body of a girl. 

¨I´ve seen some crazy things rain around here... but this is new.¨ he spoke.

They were ready to have someone dispose of the dead body when the girl opened her eyes, putting herself on her shaky legs. Blood dripped from her eyebrows and nose, and she had bruises all over. Her eyes wandered around as if she was looking for something.

¨Z-Zoro...¨ she spoke when her teary eyes met the captain´s ¨I-I need to find Zoro.¨ 

That was all she said before falling on her knees and collapsing. 

                                                             </>

Almost a year has passed since the tragedy in Sabaody Archipelago. A year passed since you were defeated in the fight against the marine force. Your gashes closed, and your bruises healed, but there was a wound that would not go away, even after one year. 

So much had happened since that day. Luffy had broken into Impel Down, fought in the Paramount War, and lost his brother, Ace. A few days later you received the hidden message he had left you, saying that you were no longer going to meet in Sabaody in three days but in two years.

It took you a while to understand the situation you and the rest of the Strawhats were in, and it took you even more to let go of your selfishness and trust them. The guilt for not being strong enough to protect yourself and your comrades ate you alive during the first weeks, but then you considered how they must be feeling too. No one could have done better. 

Everyone did their best, but no one could have done better. 

For one year, whenever a News Coo flew by to deliver a newspaper, you would run and grab it before anyone did, hoping to see another message from your friends. But the status of your captain was the only one you knew so far. You knew he was training with Rayleigh-san, and this whole two years thing should have been his idea. 

When Bartholomeu Kuma used his Devil Fruit powers on you, you ended up landing on the ship of the Red Hair Pirates. They would always tell you how you rained on their Red Force and broke the deck floor. They said you were looking for someone, and during your stay in the infirmary, you would always call for the same person. 

For months nightmares had you waking up in the middle of the night panting and crying. The same one, torturing you in an infinite and merciless loop. 

Every detail, color, and noise. Everything was so precise and clear in your head. 

When he fought still injured from the last encounter with the Shichibukai; when he stood up and faced the Warlord fearlessly. Even with the damages caused by Kizaru and the Pacifistas, he stood up. 

And maybe your eyes fooled you, maybe your exhausted body played a sick trick on you because he was there until he wasn´t.

 Right in front of your eyes.

 His cropped green hair and tanned skin, the vibrant red and white striped shirt, the scar across his chest, the haramaki, and the swords. Gone, simple as that. 

But after all the training that you had with the Red Hair Pirates, you seemed more in peace with yourself. After one year, the nightmares would bother you only every once in a while. You were not prepared for the New World before, maybe still aren´t, but you will get there. 

And they made everything easier. It was no mystery why Luffy liked them so much. Whenever you were not engaged in a fight or some other Emperor crap, those guys were incredibly light-spirited. And the moment they realized you were part of Luffy´s crew they treated your wounds and welcomed you onboard. 

Shanks agreed to have his men training you, but he made very clear that no one would babysit you, so it was ¨keep up or keep out.¨. You spent most of your time with Yassop, Benn, or Roux, for they were the best in the abilities you exercised. 

Inside the Strawhats you were a stealth agent, mostly because of your Devil Fruit, the Nagi Nagi no Mi, once possessed by a Marine Commander. Another Supernova, the Surgeon of Death Trafalgar Law had told you that before shit broke in Sabaody. 

You used that combined with your fighting skills to breach the enemy´s first line of defense before they saw you coming. Usually, Usopp would assist you with the sniper training, trade he ¨learned from a friend¨, Sogeking. 

His father was an extraordinary sniper, and he used the same kind of firearms as you, differently than Usopp´s slingshot. Benn´s combat skills were remarkable, and Roux was exceptionally fast for a man his size. You haven´t had a lot of opportunities to fight the Red Hair himself, though you had a strong will, his Haki was something you have never seen before. 

¨We´re going to a bar, kid. You´re coming?¨ Benn asked you with his cigarette on his lips. 

You pondered a little over his invitation but decided to decline it. ¨Thanks, Benn, but I´m keeping a low profile tonight.¨ He nodded and smiled, turning to follow his crewmates ¨Don´t drink too much, we have training tomorrow!¨ 

The first mate laughed shortly and spoke without looking at you ¨Roger that, kid.¨ 

You walked the opposite way, wandering between the vegetables and gimmicks tents, feeling the kind sunset kiss your skin. There was some music playing, kids running around with ice cream in their hands, laughing loudly and happily. Marketers were announcing their prices, housewives were thinking about delicious recipes to prepare for their families, and couples would sit together around the font, swearing love to each other.

Every day was like that. The citizens would wish their neighbors ¨good morning¨ from their windows; bakers would open the doors early, letting the delightful smell of fresh bread wake up those who slept in.  

How could you, in the middle of all that happiness, feel so sad and lost?

You sighed and made a route change. Maybe you needed a little bit of booze. 

The island where Shanks had decided to dock was in the Grand Line, a place where they were known and welcomed. So you knew where they were, and it would be a short walk to get there.

¨Y/N?¨ 

You turned automatically, thinking that a crew member had gotten lost and was looking for his captain - or boss, how he likes to be called.

 But when you saw the man standing in front of you, everything stopped. The music, the kids, and the love promises. 

At some point, you started to cry and hyperventilate, believing you were in another nightmare, and you would have to go through that day all over again. Your lover carried pain in his eyes as well, like his fears were the same as yours. 

Those minutes you stared at each other felt like hours while you kept every detail of him in your memory. His hair was slightly longer, and his complexion was paler, even with the sunset painting his skin. 

¨Z-Zoro...¨ you whispered shakily.

He gave a step forward ¨Y/N... it´s you...¨ 

You ran in his direction as soon as your name fell out of his mouth. Your arms embraced his neck, and your legs gave up when he held you tight against his body, whispering comforting words as you broke into tears. 

¨I...¨ nothing but sobs came out.

¨I know... me too.¨ he fondled your hair and hid his face in the curve of your neck. And there stood the both of you, not wanting to let the other go. 

                                                          </>

¨How did you know I was here?¨ you asked and he blushed a little.

¨I didn´t... I had to buy stuff for the castle, and I got lost.¨ a loud laugh came out of your mouth. It was so obvious, how didn´t you guess that?

¨They didn´t give you a log pose?¨

¨They did, but I took a nap and when I woke up, I was here.¨

You spent the rest of the day cuddling on the beach sand. Zoro was laying on his back, and you were resting on his chest. You had one year worth of conversation to catch up on, and neither of you rushed to do so. He told you about Mihawk, the creepy island in which the only native habitants were copycat human drills, the boat he destroyed, and even how he begged the Warlord to train him.

The sun had started to hide behind the sea, and the warm sand was cooling down. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore together with the salty breeze made you question if you had died at some point, and that was heaven.

¨You´re paler.¨ he chuckled.

¨It´s not very sunny where I´m living.¨ 

¨Hm...¨ you hummed ¨And how long did you take to figure out Luffy´s message?¨ 

¨Oh...¨ he thought for a second ¨ I knew right away.¨ you giggled and doodled on his chest with your finger. 

You felt his chest go up and down as he let out a sigh. 

¨I missed you, Y/N.¨ he hugged you tighter. 

¨I missed you too.¨ you stayed in silence for a few minutes ¨Anyway, when are you setting sail again?¨ You asked him softly, and he tensed up. ¨I know... ¨ your lips began to tremble ¨ I don´t want to go either, but what happened in Sabaody... I don´t want that to happen ever again.¨ you bit your lip as tears started to roll on your cheeks. 

He wiped the tears with his fingers and pulled you closer. None of you wanted to part ways again, but not only those were your captain´s order that was your future. If something like that happens again in the New World, a two-year separation would be the best scenario possible. 

¨It won´t. I promise.¨

When the night came, you decided to stay on the beach and talked until you fell asleep under the stars. The best sleep you´ve had in a long time. No nightmares, no agony, and no pain. Just the warmth and peace you missed so much.

On the following morning, you helped him get the provisions for Mihawk´s castle. You toured around the city holding hands and joking, kinda like the couples sitting by the font, enjoying every second you had before he left. 

If he didn´t get lost trying to go back to Kuraigana Island, it would be a quick trip. You assisted him with the bags and walked him to his boat. Your heart ached to say goodbye to him, but you had to. The circumstances were bigger than the two of you.

¨I love you, Zoro.¨ you hugged him and tried not to cry again.

¨I love you more, Y/N.¨

¨Careful with the naps, ok?¨ he chuckled and nodded ¨One year. We´ll meet again in one year.¨ 

¨Wait for me. I´ll go get you, and we´ll return to Sabaody together.¨ 

¨But how will you know where I will be?¨

¨It doesn´t matter where you´ll be. I´ll always find you.¨

#zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro x reader #one piece #one #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #oneshot #worst generation #sabaody archipelago #bartholomew kuma #kuma #hawkeye mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk #shichibukai #seven warlords #warlords of the sea #shanks #red hair shanks #red hair pirates #lucky roux #benn beckman #yassop #usopp #sogeking #kuraigana island #kuraigana #rayleigh

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (43) || atz

It’s a fine day once more.

The morning sun shines down upon the Treasure, its golden rays touching your cheeks as you glance up at the sky. It’s been peaceful the last few days, and you’ve heard from Yeosang that your captain has begun considering sailing back to Nassau so that Seonghwa can visit his childhood friends Seohyun and Soobin.

The cook’s been in a much more cheerful mood for the last few days after hearing those words, excited about seeing how their baby is coming along. He can’t stop gushing to you in the kitchen about how cute he thinks the baby is going to be, worrying endlessly whether they’re going to be alright, to the point that you’ve resorted to stuffing bread rolls in his mouth to keep him quiet so that he can focus on his cooking.

You don’t him to end up with two less fingers like Soobin.

After preparing breakfast with Seonghwa, you’re now seated in the rigging swaying back on forth with the wind, letting the sun warm your face as you prepare for another day ahead.

“I can’t wait to get back onto dry land.” Yunho comments with a groan from above you on the main mast, hanging upside down from the ropes. You glance up at him with a smile, shielding your eyes against the sun.

“I’m sure Jongho could always throw you overboard if you’re sick of being on the ship.”

High pitched laughter comes from beside you and you turn to see Wooyoung swinging over from the mizzen mast, grinning as he steps over to you, expertly keeping his balance on the yardarm. He’s surprisingly steady on his feet, considering the last time you’d seen him yesterday, he was screaming drunken insults about Yunho’s apparent pea sized brain for not understanding how the mizzen mast was the better of the two. He bows mockingly, gesturing to the sparkling ocean far below you.

“Maybe you’d like to go for a swim, your majesty?” Wooyoung jibes, barely able to keep the snicker out of his voice. The lookout tosses his shoe at his friend and Wooyoung ducks easily, catching it in his hand.

“Be silent, you knave.” Yunho grumbles, now missing a shoe. Reclining against the ropes, he gazes at the horizon with a steady eye, body bobbing up and down with the pitch and roll of the ship. “I still haven’t forgotten the last time you pushed me off the yardarm to save your own ass and I fell into the sea because of you.”

You raise your eyebrows as you glance at a shamelessly grinning Wooyoung, who is neither denying nor confirming it. Knowing the head gunner, however, it’s probably… no, definitely true. “How did that happen?”

Wooyoung opens his mouth to answer, but before the silver tongued charmer can say another word, Yunho cuts in, obviously knowing full well Wooyoung is going to twist the story upside down to his own advantage.

“We were on the main mast, arguing about how the main mast is obviously the better mast,” Yunho begins with a haughty tone, ignoring Wooyoung’s cry of indignation. “When San was at the wheel he stupidly beached the Treasure on the shore and the whole ship jerked. I, being the better rigging monkey, caught my balance, but Wooyoung-”

You unconsciously grip the ropes beneath you a little tighter, suddenly wary of falling off the mast yourself. Ahh. So that’s why no one on the ship trusts San with the wheel. You sometimes wonder how they even trusted him with their injuries in the first place.

“I’m a better rigging monkey than you!” Wooyoung splutters in outrage, but Yunho flat out pays no attention to him, continuing with his tale. “As I was saying, I caught my balance but Wooyoung fell. I was reaching down to save him, but then he grabbed my arm-”

“I didn’t need any saving-”

“And I fell off instead! It’s twice as bad because he stayed on the mast and I didn’t!”

“I was perfectly capable on staying on the mast myself, thank you very much.” Wooyoung grumbles, but Yunho isn’t listening to him in the slightest. In fact, he’s so pumped up with ranting that he’s starting to wave his long arms around like a windmill, complaints spilling from his mouth completely unchecked.

“And do you know what else he did? During a battle at sea, he even jumped onto the main mast on purpose! My precious main mast! The crow’s nest got blown off, you know? That’s like the head of the mast!’

You’re starting to lose Yunho to this silly argument, having no idea where this is going.

“Why is it Wooyoung’s fault the main mast got hit?”

Yunho stares at you as if the answer is obvious. “Because he’s so ugly everyone tries to shoot him.”

“What did you say, Yun Hoe?” Wooyoung screeches in the background like an offended pigeon. “Haven’t you forgotten that time you grabbed onto the mizzenmast sail and ended up tearing a huge hole in it? You defiled my beautiful mizzenmast and exposed her for everyone to see!”

You’re utterly lost from this conversation now, baffled as to why any of this matters in the first place. “Come on, guys…”

“You blew the mainmast’s head off!”

“You shamed the mizzenmast in front of the whole crew! The disgrace, Yun Hoe, the disgrace-”

“Oh yeah?” Yunho actually looks furious now, drawing his cutlass from his side. Panicking, you turn to Wooyoung, expecting him to use that glib tongue of his to somehow worm his way out of the antsy situation, but you’re shocked to see that he’s drawn his own blade as well, looking every bit ready to fight Yunho.

“Come at me, Yun Hoe!”

“It’s on, Poo Young!”

Sighing at their antics and the sheer stupidity of it all, you turn around to glance at the sea before you. It’s the same as before, an endless expanse of shimmering, deep blue as clouds drift past the horizon, sun shining-

Wait.

Frowning, you block out the sounds of Wooyoung and Yunho’s ridiculous squabbling, leaning forward to squint at the delicate line separating the ocean from the sky. Puffs of white clouds are rolling across the blue sky, but there seems to be a patch of white moving in a different direction from the others.

“What’s that?” The words leave your lips in a mutter, but Yunho hears it even over his argument with Wooyoung. His eyes narrow warily even as he sheathes his cutlass, stepping over to you.

“What is it?” He asks you and you point far into the distance, trying to understand how that one white shape is moving towards you instead of away from you, like the rest of the clouds are.

“That cloud is acting weird.” You tell him, feeling Wooyoung step towards you from behind, curious as to what is happening.

Suddenly, Yunho stiffens next to you, staring at the white shape. Frowning, you turn to ask him exactly what has gotten him to tense, but Wooyoung seems to realise it as well, fingers tightening on your shoulder unconsciously, all traces of his argument with Yunho vanishing in sight of the odd cloud.

“That’s not what I think it is, am I right?”

Yunho chews on his lower lip. “But why would any of ship be out here?”

You finally realise it now. The white shape that’s growing in size is actually a sail, starkly contrasting against the blue sky behind it. A chill runs down your back as you lean forward unconsciously, trying to catch a better glimpse of it, but Wooyoung pulls you back before you can fall over.

“Wouldn’t want you taking a dip now.” Wooyoung tries to smile at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s obvious that he’s worried at what the sight of this white sail could mean, considering it could be a simple merchant ship or even a Royal Navy frigate.

The three of you wait with baited breath as the ship grows in size.

Then suddenly, as if they can read each other’s minds, Wooyoung and Yunho both freeze at the same time, the very tension in the air sends a shiver down your entire body. You turn to glance at the two of them, confused as to why they’re acting this way.

“What is it?”

“It’s them.” Yunho spits as he stares at the horizon, seeing the snowy white sails crest the waves. You frown, unable to see as clearly, leaning forward and squinting to see what exactly could be causing your two fellow rigging monkeys so much distress.

Wooyoung curses, baring his teeth as he leaps to the ropes as fast as he can. “I’m going to tell Captain.” With that, he slides to the main deck with an urgency you’ve rarely seen in him, in such contrast to his usually easy-going and cheerful self.

But then you catch sight of it and your own eyes widen in horror.

On the sails fluttering in the wind is a red shape, starkly contrasting against the snow white background.

The same sigil decorating the shoulders of the coat you had woken up with.

The symbol on the red wax seals of Lucio’s letters.

The emblem of a crimson rose.

Your heart sinks in your chest.

It’s the Royal Navy.

“Damnit.” Yunho curses under his breath, fingers tightening on the handle of his cutlass. He’s afraid of what this might mean, for the crew and for him. How did they find you here? Was it simply by chance? Or have they been tracking you somehow? “We’re going to get into a huge battle again. I hope you’re ready for a fight, Chin Hae.”

“Is it stupid to hope that they’re not here to kill us?” You mumble under your breath but Yunho snorts, shaking his head.

“We literally all have bounties stamped on us. There are rewards of up to five hundred gold pieces for our captain’s head. Fifty for each crew mate. Two hundred for San. Two hundred fifty for Jongho and I. Three hundred for Mingi and Wooyoung.” He exhales shakily, staring as the blood red rose grows ever closer. “If they don’t want to kill us, I’ll eat my own shoe… and Wooyoung’s at that.”

You laugh nervously, trembling fingers seeking his and gripping tight as you watch your impending doom. “Want to raise the stakes?”

“I’ll even admit the mizzenmast is better.” Yunho mumbles uneasily under his breath. Just as he says those words, the sound of a iron bar being struck repeatedly rings throughout the air and the deck floods with activity, the crew swarming to the bulwarks to search for the impending threat. He pushes you lightly to the ropes. “You should go. San will want you with him when the action starts.”

Nerves rise up in you, but you force it down and slide down the rigging, careful not to burn your hands on the ropes from friction. You drop onto the deck, making your way to the quarterdeck where you had last seen your master.

To your surprise, Yeosang is there as well, Mingi at the stairs bellowing orders to the crew to ready the cannons and prepare for battle. You hear the sound of the cannon carriages being wheeled to their spots, the powder monkeys running about in organised drills to ferry the gunpowder to their guns. All of the crew are readying their weapons for battle, suiting up and loading their muskets.

Tension runs high in the air and adrenaline in your veins as you step to the railing, where Yeosang and San are. Wooyoung must have headed to the gunwales to handle his powerful cannons, the long nine and the 42 pounder, the two most deadly and lethal weapons on the Treasure. San reaches for your hand nervously, squeezing it tight.

“Are you scared?” He asks, and you don’t bother lying to him.

“Yes.”

You hate the way your voice cracks even though you’ve been in battle twice already, once with the Royal Navy before and the other on Nassau. You wish you were braver than this, but you can’t stare death in the eye without the slightest whit of fear like your captain and Yunho and Jongho can.

Yeosang takes your other hand, and even though his face is ashen and pale, he still pats your hand comfortingly.

“Don’t worry.”

You’re reminded of the first time you had been attacked by a Royal Navy ship near Tortuga, Yeosang too, had taken your hand and told you not to worry. The difference this time though, was that you were no longer just a amnesiac girl who had to be protected by Jongho, but a person reasonably well versed with the cutlass and musket, who had experienced dangers and could help people around her with her healing ability.

You just hoped it would be enough.

“Yeosang-ah, can you tell anything about the ship?” Your captain calls from this wheel, his voice eerily calm as if they aren’t on the verge of a massive battle.  Yeosang leans forward a little, squinting as he tries to make out distinctive features of the ship.

“It looks like a standard Navy ship, about fifteen cannons down each side on the upper deck. A three masted frigate with no battering ram and it relies on sail power, not on rowers. But…” Yeosang’s voice trails off in shock and you glance at him in worry.

“But?”

You had thought that Yeosang was already pale from fear, but then all at once every drop of blood seems to drain from his face, leaving him white and bloodless. His fingers tighten on the railing of the ship, mouth falling open in horror and pupils dilating in fear as he stares at the approaching ship in shock.

Concern floods you. “Yeosang-oppa?”

“The flag they’re flying…” Yeosang breathes, barely above a whisper. “It’s a black crow.”

San stiffens.

“What?”

Hongjoong somehow manages to hear that over all the noise coming from the main deck, because he whirls around in shock to look at the ship coming from the stern, instructing Mingi to take the wheel. His boots click on the deck as he makes his way over to the three of you, his one green eye narrowing in fury as he stares at the approaching dark shape. His anger radiates him like some sort of black miasma that’s poisonous to the touch, the very air around him almost acrid with sour rage.

“How dare he…” You captain seethes, before turning to Yeosang. “Yeosang, are you alright?”

But the navigator only continues to stare at the ship in shock, unresponsive to his captain except a mumbled ‘yeah, I’m fine’ that no one believes.

You’re confused as to why this ship seems to have such a massive psychological impact on Yeosang, but then San tugs on your hand lightly, his usually bright eyes grim.

“That’s the ship Yeosang’s father captains.”

Memories rush back to you, from that night you had decided to heal Yeosang with your very life force. An officer with a single, golden monocle, thin lips pulled into a permanent scowl, a white scar above his brow bone, golden patches on his shoulders.

Commander Kang. Captain of the Royal Navy ship the Black Crow. Yeosang’s father.

The man who’d abandoned his only son to bloodthirsty pirates and had left him for dead.

“Oh shit.” You mumble under your breath, realising the gravity of this situation now, how it not only crosses the physical boundaries but also the emotional and psychological. You take Yeosang’s hand in both of yours and clasp it tightly, hoping to offer some comfort, but he doesn’t seem to register it, eyes still fixed on the ship.

Then something catches your eye that makes your heart stop in your chest.

“Are they… are they seriously hoisting a white flag? A parley flag?” You spit out in shock, and your captain stares at the Black Crow, utterly furious at the sight and yet completely bewildered by this abrupt change of events from what he’s used to. A Royal Navy ship offering to parley with the Caribbean Sea’s most wanted pirates? That was wholly unheard of in the whole of maritime history.

“Are they mocking us?” You hear San growl under his breath, obviously incensed, but you must have gone a little crazy from the mixture of shock and terror, because an unsteady little giggle leaves your mouth, your hands trembling from both suspense and trepidation.

Your master glances at you, obviously concerned. “Chin Hae? Chin Hae, are you alright?”

Another near deranged chuckle spills from you as you shake your head, mind as blank as the parley flag being hoisted from the foremast.

“Oh no…” You begin, unsure what to say, every thought fleeing from your mind as the dark shape almost looms over you in your imagination. “It’s just that…”

Another uncontrollable laugh escapes you.

“Yunho needs to eat Wooyoung’s shoe now.”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; fanfiction #w; pirate king

[actress4him]

In Irons 5 - Defiance

(Prompt #20 for Summer of Whump)

Taglist: @darthsutrich , @a-series-of-whumpy-events , @ladydani101 , @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Warnings: lady whumpee (male whumper), forced labor, sexism, fear of heights, mentioned starvation, mentioned sleep deprivation, restraints

.

.

Life on The Dark Storm continues, but everything is different now. Everyone on the ship seems to have an opinion about Adelaide, and none of them are good. Whereas before, she was ignored by some and treated like she was weak and stupid by others, now part of the crew thinks she’s helpless, part glare at her like she’s the devil incarnate, and part give her hungry looks that send shivers up and down her spine.

Captain Payne is in the second group. She’s not sure whether it’s the fact she’s a woman or because of her perceived lies, but it’s obvious the man hates her, if not by the way he stares her down, then by the extra load of work he’s suddenly thrust upon her.

It starts with menial tasks, like the ones she’s been doing since being brought aboard. Only now he seems to find twice as many that need completing, and he personally comes to inspect her work and make sure that it’s absolutely perfect. If she’s scrubbing the deck and he finds one single speck of dirt on it - even if it was put there after it was cleaned - she has to do the whole ship over again. If she’s slicing potatoes for dinner, he comes and looms over her shoulder, making her so nervous that she nearly slices off a finger.

Then one day he gets it into his head to start assigning her the most outlandish tasks he can think of. It starts when a line gets snagged, up in the rigging. One of the men immediately starts up after it, but the Captain holds out a hand, stopping him, and turns to Adelaide with that smug smile of his.

“Miss Gray.” He can’t seem to say her name without emphasizing the feminine title. “I believe it’s your turn.”

Her face blanches. Craning her neck back, she stares up at the snagged rope, so high above their heads, and her heart skips a beat or two. She almost blurts out, “Why me?” but somehow, she knows. He doesn’t think she can do it. He’s waiting for her to refuse, to beg not to, or to attempt it and fail. He’s looking for an excuse to punish her.

She’s not going to give him what he wants. Not ever, if she can help it.

Setting her jaw and narrowing her eyes, she marches forward. All around her the crewmen are making comments, some whispered and others not so respectful, but she blocks them out and focuses only on the rope ladder in front of her.

It’s very tall. Stretching on and on, all the way up to the crow’s nest. She tries not to think about it, tries to think only about her hands, gripping the rope, and her feet, finding one foothold after another. But she can still see the water beyond the ladder, and it’s getting further beneath her with each step.

After what seems like an eternity of climbing, she reaches the top of the ladder. She still hasn’t picked up on all of the technical terms of the rigging, but she knows that, somehow, she has to get to the end of the horizontal pole that stretches out from the crow’s nest. Walking isn’t an option. Slowly, tentatively, she reaches out with one hand, feeling around the wood until she thinks she’s got a steady hold. Then, inhaling deeply and gritting her teeth, she lets go of the rope with the other hand, heart leaping into her throat as gravity takes over for a split second until she’s balanced against the pole.

Down below, somebody is cackling. Adelaide resists the urge to look down and see who it is.

Somehow, she gets both of her legs wrapped around the pole. She’s seen the men shimmy along poles and ropes dozens of times before, but seeing and performing are two different things. She really would have preferred to practice first on something a little closer to earth. But she’s here now, and she still refuses to give up and prove any of them right about her, no matter how hard her heart may be pounding against the wood.

Slowly, very slowly, she inches her way out , away from the relative safety of the ladder, out over the open air where there will be absolutely nothing to catch her if she falls. The men jeer and catcall her the whole way. It seems like an eternity before she reaches the snagged rope, all the way out at the end, and carefully pushes herself upright, legs still hugging the pole, so that she can untangle it with one hand.

Deep breath in, and out. The job is accomplished. Now all she has to do is make it back down to solid ground.

When she reaches the ladder, she finally starts breathing normally again. When she reaches the deck, legs shaking, she’s feeling rather proud of herself. That was the hardest task she’d ever had to carry out, and she did it.

Of course the only thing that greets her at the bottom is sneers, chuckles, or, like the Captain, pretense that she doesn’t even exist. A bit of acknowledgment that she had done a good job would have been nice. Still, knowing that she ticked off the Captain is a decent enough reward.

He tries again, many times, to catch her off guard and assign some task that she won’t be able to do. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. The time that he orders her to pull a line that normally requires two or three men ends with her missing meals for two days. Another time her best attempt at tying off a line that she had never worked with before doesn’t hold, and she’s forced to play the role of night watchman for three nights in a row. After, of course, the Captain strikes her a good time or two with his ever-present cane. It’s obviously his favorite form of discipline, used on most everyone at one time or another.

None of it is as terrible as her very first punishment, though, until the day that they come across a passenger ship. It’s certainly not the first ship that The Dark Storm has pillaged in her time on board, but it’s the first that has carried families - women and children.

In the past, Adelaide has helped bring their ship up to whatever hapless vessel they’ve found, usually ramming into it from behind just like they had The Golden Rose, then hung back while most of the rest of the men boarded, helping to load and stow cargo. She has no desire to help any further than that.

But on this day, while she watches the pristine decks of Foxglove come closer, Captain Payne saunters up to her with the look on his face that she’s come to recognize as bad news for her.

“Miss Gray. You will board Foxglove and help keep the passengers from doing anything...stupid.” With a flourish, he produces a dagger from inside his coat. Small, certainly nothing fancy, but wickedly sharp. “I trust you can figure out how to use this enough to scare a few dumb citizens into behaving themselves?”

Adelaide stares at the gleaming blade of the dagger for a long moment, heart in her throat. She can’t believe she’s actually about to do this, but…“No.”

One bushy eyebrow quirks upwards. “Come again?”

“No, sir.” Adelaide raises her chin and stares him directly in the eyes. “I will not. I won’t be part of those children’s nightmares for months to come.”

Fury and amusement are warring for precedence on Captain Payne’s face. “In all my years as captain, not one crew member has ever had the audacity to outright refuse one of my orders.”

She really should remain quiet, but she can’t. “Well, then, I suppose it’s about time that someone does.”

Fury wins out. “Jones! Take Miss Gray to the brig.” He lowers his voice, stepping in close to growl in her face. “You’ll be thoroughly dealt with later.”

As the irons are clapped on and she’s led into the dark once again, Adelaide wonders just what she has gotten herself into this time.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump20 #defiance #in irons #adelaide the pirate #whump #whump writing #lady whump #lady whumpee #forced labor #fear of heights #starvation tw #sleep deprivation tw #restraints tw #pirate captain #pirate oc #pirates #pirate ship #original fiction

[aggresivelyfriendly]

The Future is What?

Hi all! So my imagination is big, and this was a flapping cape to its bull! Enjoy, or don’t, no judgement!

I owe it all to @dirtystyles

"Did I get it?" He feels like it should be rather obvious, but they've been at this, off and on, for most of the day.

Well, not this particular pursuit, but the pursuit of pleasure, his and hers, since he woke up hard and she woke up willing.

So she's very wet and swollen and sensitive too. The deluge had come and gone and come again, it's fair to say.

She smiled, but that wasn't an answer. Her eyes were hazy and she looked just as fucked out as him. But he really wanted to know, couldn't help but ask, both times.

It had started as pillow talk. "You remember that shirt you wore, like early on?"

She'd worn a lot of shirts, she can't stop herself when it comes to a clever tee, so she just raised a sweaty brow at him from where she is lying on his right laurel.

"You know the one." He nudged her with his hip. And he knew he was blushing and she knew he was blushing and she tried to think of red cheek inducing shirts? But then she started thinking how her lower cheeks were probably red from the friendly slaps he'd given her when their morning side lying fuck had turned into full on doggie. God bless younger men.

"I have a lot of cheeky shirts?" She shrugs, it jostles his balls.

"Heeeey, careful!" He warns but he's smiling and his dimples and eye crinkles are almost meeting so she climbs up to kiss him and lay on his shoulder.

"No, really, just tell me what shirt?"

She can't believe he's embarrassed. They've been dancing around for a month, and had been moved on to the horizontal mambo with glee weeks ago.

It had started innocently enough. Around Thanksgiving, she was texting the group chat how she hated that her kiddos were away and she was alone on the actual day. She'd used some crying emojis- it was dramatic, but she was in the right field for that. There had been a smattering or sympathetic responses, Harry had sent a thumbs down. Then with barely a moments pause he'd texted, "Wanna come over? I'm cooking way too much!" To only her.

"Why? You're not even American?" Had been her response. The shrug emoji made her smile. He was kinda weird, and cute, no, hot. So hot, but cute.

She should know better, she might be accused of leading man-itis.

She couldn't deny she was kinda into him. I mean, he was a dreamboat and they decked him out to full wattage daily on set, but she was his boss and older and had kids and had just gotten out of relationship and, and, and. To all these reasons she had to say, "shut the fuck up!" to her own brain.

He could be just being nice. He was seriously the nicest man she'd ever met.

Or, what if it was a move? Did she want it to be a move? No? Yes? Yes...why couldn't she have nice things? She was a badass, and now a single mom who deserved but didn't require love.

And he was an adult. She'd make sure he knew the playing field and rules. That they'd have to share home court advantage, if they were even gonna play to have rematches in the future.

More than anything, the most compelling thing, was the way he made her smile. She appreciated thoughtfulness, and the way her remembered names, preferences, dietary restrictions and favorite flowers, it just melted her. She really thought she'd lost the ability to melt when her vagina died.

She supposed the impulsive adventurer inside never died, even when made shy by more than one bite.

Of course, she texted back, "Address?" Just to him.

And three hours later she'd had an incredible meal and two orgasms.

Then, even with her warning him off, and some wise voice reminding her she often fell too fast, they'd fallen into each other.

On Christmas Eve, when he'd found her crying that her kids didn't come home until morning, he'd pulled her downstairs to excitedly play Santa and then given her a beautiful Gucci outfit, asked her to be his date at his best friend's wedding, and told her if he had to be away from family for Christmas he could imagine no one better to be with.

She was already on his hook, but line and sinker were now also accomplished.

So much for rules and boundaries, and home court advantage definitely looked like her at his house overnight whenever hers was quiet, and driving his car too.

So, that he was so embarrassed now surprised her. They had dove deeply into one another, been bare emotionally as well, they'd rehashed her divorce and her almost marriage. Then his past, his band, his homesickness and his tattoos. She was amazed he felt self conscious, laying with her naked, whatever the topic of her conversation tees were.

"Just tell me the shirt, baby." She knew that melted him right back. He really loved all the couple things they were falling into, she could see it when he preened at small touches or glowed at pet names.

"Um, well." She can't help but laugh, he's so good at action, both at home and when she calls it on set, but he gets incredibly tongue tied with words. Probably why he did music, too. Easier to share thoughts to a page than person.

"Cmon!" She said against his mouth, "tell me..." she bit his lower lip.

"The one about the future." He waits for her to fill the rest in.

"The voting shirt I bought everybody?" That concerned the future.

"Um," he rolls his eyes, she assumes at himself. "The female ejaculation one."

"Oh!" Oh!! She had worn that one to set. It was when she was kinda starting to feel Harry. She wanted him to think of her cumming. She supposed it worked, though she was a tiny bit embarrassed at her brazenness. Most days she thought of it as her best trait. Maybe it was, it was working for her, clearly. "Yeah, what about it?" He was avoiding eye contact. She wanted him to look at her.

He finally did, and he gripped her hips proprietarily, like he needed to be reminded he could, that he had some entitlement to her for this conversation. "Can you?"

Could she? Could she what? Oh, OH! "Um, I have. But it's not like commonplace."  She traced his eyebrows and perched on his hips. That was doing fun things to him. "Have you ever?"

He nodded. "But just once, and I'm not sure how I did it. I'd like to learn to master it." He gave her a smug look, well as smug as he could look blushing. The sex flush and sweat helped.

"Oh, you'd like to master it, huh?" She tickled him a little and he squirmed and they giggled together. "How long do you suppose that could take? I've got all day!" She was joking.

"I've got years!" He raised an eyebrow at her.

Years? With them? Why was that compelling? this was a fling. But so was her first marriage, she supposed. A lovely life changing short lived thing that turned into years.

The butterflies in her belly were familiar, from that lifetime ago.

"Alright." She crawled up and over his face. "Let's see that diligence, Styles."

He's really good at this, and they both seemed to  like when she's in charge. That's working for them when she's in her director's chair or using his face as a seat.

That one was too easy.  She came, but not like he was hoping for.

His long fingers played her next, and she thinks they may have nearly had it.

After that, he was too pent to just let that erection go to waste. That one may have been a wasted opportunity, if they had added some vibes or she had got her fingers down there they may have got it. Also, if Harry had been able to hold off longer.

"Sorry!" He'd breathed into her neck.

She could only laugh, yeah, sorry for today's first orgasm to her fifth. She knew how goal oriented he was though. "It's ok." She ruffled his hair and kissed him.

The nap was needed and inevitable. He woke up on a mission.

This time, he employed all the lessons they'd learned.

But her body was groggy.

"Harry, baby—"

"Hmmm?" He hummed from where he was beneath the blanket, head between her legs immediately after he pulled out. That'd be hot, but..

"Baby, I need a break." She pushed the blankets off and cupped his jaw before pulling him up. "And food."

"I'll cook for you." He got up naked as the day and she slapped his little ass as he went.

"That did it! It happened!" She laughed and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"You're a menace and a meany." He leaned over to kiss her on her sweaty forehead. "What do you want?"

"Whatever can be ready in the space of a shower, I'm so hungry."

"No!" He shook his head. "Don't wash."

"Ok Napoleón. I'll feel better if I'm clean."

"But it'll be like starting over. We're not finished yet."

"Baby, we have time. There's no rush." She reminded him. They'd talked about this. He was scared too, to many relationships sacrificed to fame. She didn't give a fuck; not her first rodeo and all.

He'd been right though. She'd met him in the kitchen and his breakfast in bed plan was foiled. Then they watched a movie, then a documentary.

Luckily that was boring enough, or they were new enough, a make out had ensued.

So here she was, splayed out on the couch, shaking, and she figured when her brain and legs started working again she'd be pissed there were no sheets to simply change. She had an upholstery cleaner somewhere.

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled. "You definitely got it." His pleased smile, like when he nailed a take, it's her favorite, along with his kiss.

The future looked bright.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #Harry styles imagine #harry styles oneshot #silliness

[flightrules]

Which Kind Do You Want to Be?

Summary: You’re from a deeply sex-positive culture. He hasn’t gone unarmored in front of another human in... It’s been a very long time.

Three days on board the Razor Crest featuring moments of angst, domesticity, kindness, explicit consent, and Din doing his best to be a conscientious parent in the midst of everything. Heads up for descriptions of canon-typical violence, mention of past dubious consent, and a moment of (unintentional) violence between our protagonists. Din/cis female OC, on the hetero end of the scale. Ending is bittersweet.

Rating: Mature? Explicit? Anyhow, grown-up sexy stuff in later chapters. Please be old enough to be reading this kind of thing.

Watch for upcoming chapters here, or read the complete story on AO3. 

Chapter 1

He's sitting there looking at you, head tilted, and it's like somebody needed an illustration of curiosity for a children's book so they drew this Mandalorian and stuck that on the page.

"Isn't 'stop' good enough?" he says.

"Sometimes people like to say that and not mean it. Having a different word lets you both know you don't want what's happening anymore."

"If I say stop, I'll mean it."

There's something about that voice modulator that makes everything he says sound final.

The two of you are sitting across from each other on the floor, in the cramped hold of the Razor Crest. You're dressed in your usual practical trousers and shirt, but you've kicked your boots into a corner and your rifle's propped against a nearby wall.

He's still wearing the beskar.

The child is spending the night with Peli, who took him delightedly, crooning about getting him some decent food and a nice soft place to sleep. 

She also spared a moment for you, looking you up and down before shooting a pointed look at the armored man beside you. "It's about time."

"Can you trust her?" you asked on the way up the ramp, as Peli and the child disappeared into her shop.

He shrugged. "With my life? No. With his? Yes."

How exactly does this man decide whom to trust with his life? 

You've known each other, what, a few days? The acid burn on your right shoulder is still raw, the skin still peeling away in shreds. Interesting lesson, that. Gark-vipers don't bite, they spit. 

The scar will be your souvenir from a three-day trek through the jungles of Silicaria. One day in to snatch the little green rug-rat back from the bounty hunters who took him, two days back on tired legs, without food and no idea if the water in the streams you passed was safe.

You were hired help at the beginning. 

By the end, between fighting off hungry jungle creatures, sharing watches through pitch-black nights, and taking turns carrying the kid, you and this man were something like friends. 

Not that you didn't still collect your credits. A girl's gotta eat.

But you also didn't turn down the chance to get cleaned up in his ship's refresher, or to bunk down in a corner of the hold for a decent night's sleep.

He got the baby to bed first, briskly bathing the yawning little creature in the galley sink, then wrapping him up in a clean blanket and tucking him into a hammock in what looked like the man's own sleeping quarters. 

Then he indicated the refresher and sonic shower for you to use. "I'll wait upstairs." 

It was nice of him to give you privacy to get cleaned up and changed, even if it seemed a bit odd to you. Where you come from the human body's nothing to be ashamed of. But not all cultures see things that way.

Clearly his did not. You'd think after what you'd both been through, he'd want to get into some comfy clothes and leave the armor in storage for a while. But no, he switched places with you in the cockpit, disappeared down into the hold, and came back up a little later smelling a heck of a lot better but fully decked out again.

"I promise I'm not dangerous," you said, teasing.

It was a little insulting how easily he said, "I know." But he added, "I have food. If you're still hungry," and that felt like something a friend would say. So you bit back the temptation to remind him that if you wanted to, you could be dangerous, indeed.

The Razor Crest's food stores were nothing to write home about. Your body was going to make good use of the calories though, whether they tasted good or not. You leaned against the galley cabinet and gnawed on a protein bar. He started working on cleaning weapons and putting them away in what looked like a small but impressive armory.

"So what's the deal with the outfit?" Curiosity wasn't a sin where you came from, either.

"What do you mean?"

"You're home, right? We've agreed I'm not dangerous. Who are you planning to fight?"

"I'm not," he said, settling a blaster in its place next to an array of grenades. 

"So?"

"Mandalorians don't go unarmored around anyone but family."

You were struck by a sudden image of him with the kid, the two of them playing tag or something down here among the crates and stowed weapons. The kid in his little brown robes and the Mandalorian in, what? A pair of soft trousers, maybe a shirt that showed his arms. Barefoot, maybe. Probably hair all a mess. If he had hair. Or would he shave his head?

You had to shake your own head to get the image to clear.

"Huh," you said in reply. "Really? I crossed paths with some guys like you, a couple years back. They didn't seem to have any issue."

You were surprised to hear a sigh. "There are different kinds of Mandalorians."

"Do you get to choose?"

He didn't answer. 

You finished up the protein bar and looked around for somewhere to toss the wrapper. There wasn't an obvious wastebin, so when he looked back your way again you held it up, inquiring.

"Behind the door, lower left," he said. And then, "You don't get to choose."

"Who chooses for you, then?"

He turned back to the armory. It looked to you like everything was in its place now, but he lifted out the grenades, turned them over in his hands, put them back. "I was a foundling," he said. "They raised me in the Way."

How he said "the Way," you could hear the emphasis, like it was a sacred word. "A foundling? Like your kid?"

"Yes."

"So, you're going to teach him to live like this, too?"

The answer came quickly: "No." He closed the armory doors. They latched with a clicking sound. "We should go."

"We?"

"The child and I need to get off-world. Someone knew we were here. Where do you want to go?"

What made him think you didn't already belong in the village where he met you?

"You're not from here."

No, you weren't. The place you're from isn't there anymore, though, thanks to the Empire. 

It wasn't a story you cared to tell right then. 

"Sure, yeah, wherever you're headed next." Anywhere you could find work would do. "I'll jump off at the next port." You indicated your shoulder, where the acid burn still stung. "As long as they don't have gark-vipers."

You slept cozily enough that night, wrapped in a blanket he gave you and using the bivy bag from your own pack as padding beneath. At one point you woke to the sound of the child fussing, followed by the man's voice softly singing. The child quieted down and you found yourself lulled back to sleep, too.

“Are you sure the kid’s safe down there?” 

“He’s safe.”

You’re picturing the dusty repair yard, the bare-bones shop behind it, the handful of repair droids who were probably great with wrenches but not so much with guns. Peli looked like she had some wiry strength to her, but she was on her own. “She a former soldier or something?”

“She has a safe-room behind a hidden panel with a ten-centimeter durasteel door. They’ll be fine.”

Your eyebrows go up. Mos Eisley looks like a shambling backwater town. 

“Tatooine has wildlife. Some of it has guns.”

You glance at your own rifle, leaning against the wall nearby. You’ve fought off some of that kind of wildlife before. 

What a strange family you’ve fallen in with. 

“All right,” you say. “Good. I guess you know what you’re doing.”

You expect him to nod, confirm, like he did when you said you weren’t dangerous. Instead, you see pauldrons and breastplate shift as his shoulders sag a bit. “Sometimes.”

This thing you’re doing now, or about to do. It started with a joke. Well, mostly a joke. A victorious mission, the child safe, the two of you safe now too, and alone behind closed doors. The sweat of the mission washed away, guns laid down, a chance to rest. Back home, you said, as you took the blanket he’d found for you, a man and a woman would celebrate. 

You hadn’t expected him to take you up on it, but you also hadn’t expected him to freeze like that, one hand still holding the blanket. Until this moment, he’d looked like that armor was part of him. Suddenly, somehow, the way he reached out to you looked awkward, pauldron and vambrace no longer in line, and that helmet turned the tiniest angle, like he didn’t know where to direct his eyes.

“Never mind,” you said, smiling to let him know it really was ok. “We’re not where I come from, are we.”

Something shifted back now, and the shapes of his armor made sense again. He let go his grip on the blanket as you took it. “No.”

As you went to shake the blanket out and make up your bedroll, you noticed that your shirt was sticking a bit to the burn on your shoulder. “One thing, though, I could use from you. Do you have a medkit?”

“Sure.” He turned in the small space, graceful now, broad shoulders under the beskar pauldrons shifting as he reached up to open a high cupboard. You couldn’t help noticing how trim his waist looked, even under all that steel and fabric. Oh well, some things were not for you. 

The medkit had burn ointment and bandages, but no bacta. You’d have been hesitant to use any, anyhow. It would heal that wound in a day, but you knew what it cost. You’d never had the credits to buy it yourself. 

He started to turn his back, to let you undo your shirt in private and get a bandage over the oozing burn. But the acid had dripped far enough down your shoulder blade that you couldn’t quite be sure you’d covered it. “If I promise to stay decent, can you help here?”

He made quick work of anchoring the gauze to your skin with strips of steritape, while never putting pressure on the places that still ached and stung. Those were hands that had bandaged up wounds before. You’d wondered already what was underneath the armor, but suddenly you found yourself wondering what pattern of scars you might find. On a man who clearly fought as easily as he breathed, maybe almost as often--and apparently didn’t have the credits for bacta, either. Unless he went through it so fast, he couldn’t keep it stocked. 

He flipped the medkit closed. He stowed it back on its high shelf, then crossed to the little room where the baby was still sound asleep, curled in that tiny hammock. “Sleep well,” he told you, before lowering the room’s metal door. 

When you woke in the morning that metal door was up and you were alone in the dimly lit hold. You took advantage of the refresher and used your fingers to comb down your hair, where you could feel it was standing on end. No mirrors in here. You’d been too tired last night to notice. 

Well, if you really wanted to know what you looked like you could check your reflection in that armor.

You made yourself at home in the galley, poking around until you found some caff powder and another of those protein bars. Then, mug in one hand and bar in your pocket, you climbed the ladder to the cockpit.

The Mandalorian was in the pilot’s chair, helmeted head framed by the lights of hyperspace beyond the windows. The little green child was nowhere to be seen. You made your way forward to settle into the passenger seat, meaning to ask if one of you should check on the baby. But there he was, after all, perched on one armored thigh, staring wide-eyed at the lights while his tiny hand held fast to the man’s gloved index finger. 

Neither of them looked over at you, but neither one seemed startled when you spoke. You addressed the child, because why not. You’d been through a lot together, the past couple days. You figured you’d reached an understanding. “Does he sleep in that armor, too?”

The baby looked your way for a second, cooed cheerfully, and returned his gaze to the sky. 

You took a sip of caff, appreciating the spark it sent straight to your brain. Caff was a rare treat for you at the best of times, and on that jungle planet, where every bean had to be imported, it had usually been out of your reach. “Well? Do you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Last night?”

“Last night you might have needed something.”

“But most of the time, you don’t have to. You said, family.” You gnawed off a corner of the protein bar and washed it down with another sip of caff. “So where are the rest of them?”

He reached forward to adjust something on the console, a smooth movement of arm, shoulder, and back that left the baby peacefully balanced in his lap. “This is my clan,” he said. “Until I find the child’s people and return him to them.”

“He’s your whole family?” You needed another gulp of caff to process this. “And when you’ve dropped him off you’re just going to--” That couldn’t be right. People couldn’t go their whole lives walled off like that, beskar steel and cloth padding between them and the whole entire world. “Are you sure you don’t get a choice, here?”

He was silent for a long time. During the quiet, the baby looked up at him, then looked your way. The man disentangled his hand from the baby’s grip and rested it on the tiller. “This is the Way,” he said. It was hard to hear emotion through that helmet and whatever the electronics were doing to his voice, but--he sounded quieter than usual. A little slower. He sounded sad. 

“Well,” you said. “There’s got to be other Ways. Those other Mandalorians I met, they sure had a different way. Pretty sure they weren’t flirting with the barmaids because they wanted to keep their armor on.”

“There are different kinds of Mandalorians,” he repeated, same thing he said the first time you asked. 

You wrapped both hands around the mug you were holding, enjoying the warmth against fingers that still ached a bit from the punches you’d had to throw. “Which kind do you want to be?”

For some reason, you couldn’t let it go. You didn’t push, exactly. That wouldn’t have been right. But there wasn’t much else to do as the ship sailed through hyperspace. He was making a couple jumps, he told you, right-angle turns at out-of-the way nodes, to make it harder for anyone to guess the ship’s trajectory and follow. 

In between setting the next course, there wasn’t much to do besides watch the sky, play with the baby, and talk. After a while, he started asking you questions, too.

“What’s it like?” was one of them. What’s it like to walk around exposed all the time, nothing between your fragile skin and the world but a thin cotton shirt and trousers. You’d never thought about it all that much, but he had a point. The knife scar just below your ribs was a testament to that. 

“What’s it like,” you asked him back. He told you about the electronics in the helmet that make it hard for anyone to sneak up on him. He showed you a few of the hidden weapons, although you’re certain there are many more you haven't gotten to see. He explained the history of some of them, how he’s wearing not just the latest technology but a thousand years of Mandalorian history. He said, in a way, it’s like always having your own backup. Like never being completely alone. 

It wasn't until much, much later, when the ship was on its last trajectory, the baby was in bed, and the two of you were sitting side by side on the floor down there in the hold, a jar of bitter ale in your hand and him still stone-cold sober, that he admitted it was lonely.

And that’s how, after a couple more hours of talking and a night of much more restless sleep, the child’s ended up with Peli as a babysitter and the two of you are alone up here in the Razor Crest, sitting cross-legged across from each other, knees almost touching but with space and several kilos of beskar definitely still between you. 

“All right,” you say. “The word for stop is, stop. You sure you still want to do this?”

“No.”

You’re disappointed, but it’s got to be up to him. You start to scoot back, ready to stand up, to give him some actual room. 

A gloved hand closes around your calf. “Yes.”

You cover that hand with your own. When he doesn’t pull away, you lift his fingers gently from your leg, find the cuff of that glove, and slide it from his hand. 

His hand is trembling.

“You’ll remember? The word for stop?”

He laughs, short and sharp. It makes a faint sound of static through the helmet’s modulator.

Carefully, slowly, you use your own hand to guide his fingers to the bottom edge of that helmet. “How do I…?” He lifts his other hand to help you. There’s a soft, electronic sigh as whatever holds it in place loosens. And then, all on his own, he lifts the thing from his head.

He’s got curly hair. It’s the first thing you notice, as you run your fingers along his scalp and those curls, flattened by the shape of the beskar, spring back into ringlets. You’ve no idea what color his eyes are because they’re closed, and his head is bowed down as, fascinated, you wind one of those curls around a finger. You slide the other hand down to his neck and lean in to plant a single, gentle kiss against his temple. 

It takes him two tries to gasp out the word. “Stop.”

You drop your hands and rock back from kneeling to sitting, putting space back between you.

He huffs out a short laugh again, catches his breath, then raises his head to look at you.

His eyes are dark brown, almost black. Tiny lines at the outer corners hint at how old he might be. The paleness of his skin reminds you, it probably hasn't seen much sun. You might look the same age, but you bet he's got a few years on you.

"Was that a stop for now, or a stop altogether?"

"I don't know," he says. "No one's done that since…" His voice trails off. 

"Do you want to get put back together? We can try again later. Or not."

He's so solemn when he says, "There's no going back." He adds softly, as if to himself: This is the Way. And then, looking at you again, "Do you mind if I…?" He indicates the vambraces covering his forearms, moves as if to take one off.

You can't resist. "Can I help?"

The whole thing is more complicated than you might have thought. It's not just the individual steel plates. Each piece connects into an underlying electrical array, woven into the fabric of his clothing. He shows you first, on one side, then lets you follow his hands with yours to do the other. 

It's probably good you're helping, actually, because his hands are shaking again. By the time you get to the shin guards above his boots, he needs you to undo the catches. 

"No wonder you never take this stuff off." You're kneeling at his feet now, and you reach over to set the second boot next to the pile of beskar that has now joined your rifle against the wall. You worried briefly about just stacking it up like that, but he shrugged. The stuff was made to take blaster bolts. You weren't going to hurt it.

"How long does it take to put it all on again?"

He's watching the tremor in his hands. "It's faster when I'm alone."

"I can go," you offer. "Climb up to the cockpit for a bit and let you…" Let him what? This whole thing got started because he was tired of being alone.

"No," he says. "Stay."

All right. "You've still got a lot of… machine going on there. Am I going to break something if I touch you?"

He looks down at his own body, as if surprised to realize he's still wearing anything. 

"Where do we start?"

The bodysuit array turns out to be a single piece with a diagonal seam across the chest and down to his waist. You work together to undo the line of hook and loop tape that holds it shut. His hands, so capable with fists and weapons, have gone clumsy, and as you help slide the array from his shoulders you can feel the shaking has spread. The man's whole body is trembling.

Underneath, he's wearing a simple, soft shirt with sleeves down to his wrists and black leggings that you can't help but notice cling to slim hips and defined quads.

You knew he was fit. You spent three days fighting beside him. It's still fun to get to see, even if he also looks like he's not going to last much longer on his feet.

You step closer and reach a hand out, and although you can't see his face well now--he's still almost a head taller than you, even with you both now standing in stocking feet--you can hear his breathing quicken as you lay your palm against his chest. His heart is pounding like you've been in battle. 

He's proven he knows how to say stop when he wants to. You move closer again, thighs up against his, belly to belly, your chin against his collarbone, and wrap your arms around him. You're not sure if the sound he makes is a grunt, a laugh, or a sob.

Before long you've sunk to the floor and you end up half in his lap, tangled together, and usually by this point with a new partner you'd be laughing and reaching for bare skin beneath each other's clothes. Here, he's now holding you so tight you couldn't get free if you tried. His face is buried in your neck and there's no mistaking it now. He's absolutely sobbing.

Where you're from, the human body was nothing to be ashamed of. And that includes all the awkward things that bodies do. You slide one hand from his back, up his neck, to rest your fingers in those lovely curls again, and you let him cry.

When he finally winds down, the shaking has stopped too. Gradually his hold on you loosens, and you find yourself shifting against him so you can see his face. His hair's plastered against his forehead now and those warm brown eyes are lined with red. He looks awful, and the thing you want most in the world right now is to kiss him.

He doesn't smile, but he gives another of those short laughs. 

You bring a hand to his face, curving your palm against his cheekbone, using your thumb to wipe away some of the wetness below his eye. You lean in slowly to try a kiss against his temple again, and then his cheek, and then, gentle as you can manage, against his mouth. 

He's already warned you this would be new for him so you're careful, slow, pressure first and then tracing his lips with your tongue. One hand still caressing his face, the other against the back of his head, and you can't resist a gentle tug on those curls. 

But when you do, suddenly he's not responding, until he chokes out your safeword. Stop.

You do, of course, disappointed until you see he's gasping to catch his breath. "That good, huh?"

"It is." And then, he shakes his head. "I don't think I can. I don't know what to do with it all."

You've never been shy around men. Where you're from, a tumble is so normal you don't even count partners. This is new for you. Usually, they keep asking for more.

All you can think to do is say, "You got any more of that bitter ale?" It's not for him exactly, you wouldn't want him making decisions he'd regret. 

It's for you.

He does, indeed, have a whole stash of the stuff, although the dust on the lids suggests he doesn't get into it all that often. You end up sitting side by side on the floor again, backs against a row of cupboard doors. 

When you get up to get you both a second round, your own judgement's fuzzy enough that you plunk back down right next to him, hip to hip, and rest your head a moment on his shoulder. 

A little later his hand finds yours. 

You sit there, side by side, fingers twined together, until both your ale jars are empty. By now you're tired, you're a little bit drunk, and you're still turned on. And you can't do a damn thing about it because the last thing he said was, stop, and now he's probably a little drunk, too.

"I should get some sleep," he says beside you. "You should, too."

You end up back in your makeshift bedroll, while he's a whole two meters away in his sleeping quarters. You lie awake for a while, wondering if he's lying awake too, until the combination of ebbing hormones and the effects of good ale finally lead you to sleep.

It's easy to lose track of time on the Razor Crest, where sunlight doesn't make it down into the hold. But the ship's chrono wakes you with its loud, annoying buzz. 

He's already up. He hits a control panel to silence the noise, then takes the few steps from the galley to bring you a cup of caff. He crouches beside your bedroll to hand it to you.

He stays there a moment while you sit up, drag your fingers through your hair, then take the mug from his hand.

He's dressed now in a pair of black trousers and a black shirt that shows off chiseled arms. The color makes his brown eyes look even darker. Overall, the effect is making it hard for you to think.

"I need to pick up the child," he says. "You'll be all right here?"

You rub your eyes, trying to clear your head. "Give me a minute, I'll come with you. I need to figure out where to stay tonight. Look for some work. Maybe your friend can point me in the right direction."

You've gotten so used to having to read him through the armor, it's startling to see the expression of surprise on his face. Like he'd forgotten he only offered you a ride this far. I'll get off at the next port, you'd told him. Tatooine is it.

He settles down beside you, now, watching you sip at the caff. You're halfway through the mug and thinking you'd better get up and get ready, when he reaches out to rest his hand against the side of your head, then draw his fingers through your hair. 

"We didn't get to finish, did we," he says. "Will you stay?"

Tatooine's twin suns are making complicated shadows on the ground of the repair bay. You have to squint against the bright light as you and he make your way down the ramp. 

You're wearing the same clothes as yesterday--it's all you've got that's anywhere close to clean--but you've made yourself presentable, checking your hair in the shiny surface of the beskar breastplate that's still propped against a wall. 

You made sure he looks presentable too, finger-combing tangled curls into submission before you let him out the door. 

Peli emerges from the shop with the child perched on her hip. As soon as he catches sight of the man beside you, the little arms reach out and he's bouncing to be let down.

Peli looks up and lets out a whoop of surprise. "Well how about that! I always wondered what was under there." She finally notices the child's struggles and sets him gently down. "You go ahead to your papa."

The little creature toddles across the yard to be scooped up and examined. "Did you have fun?" He tucks the child in the crook of his arm and crosses the rest of the way to Peli. "What do I owe you?"

She's staring at him unabashedly. You can appreciate her appreciation for how that shirt fits.

"I don't know how you did it," she says to you, "but I'd say this is an improvement. Although," she confides, as if he's not standing right there, "there was something appealing about all that--" she gestures to her own shoulders, hinting at the shape of pauldrons-- "all that shiny.

"Now go on." She's waving the three of you back toward the ship. "I've got a freighter coming in here any minute, and he's actually going to pay me. If you can get that thing off the ground," she adds as if to herself, and then to you, "You tell him if breaks that thing again he better bring it here to be fixed. No more of that Mon Calamari nonsense."

You've got no idea what she's talking about, but it's nice to know that somebody else cares about this man and his odd little child. 

You'll go along with them for a while, you think, see where things lead. Offer to do what you can around the ship, help out wherever they're headed next. 

Mostly though, you're looking forward to seeing what happens tonight, once the baby's tucked in and you're alone together again.

#the mandalorian #fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin needs a hug

[jess-rewatches-prodigalson]

Ouroboros (S2, E8)

The hiatus almost killed me. So glad we have new content <3

As usual, my time-stamped thoughts for this episode are below. As always I reference Malcolm’s mental health. A lot. So if that’s going to be a trigger for you, don’t keep reading.

SPOILERS AHEAD:

0:04 - That scarf is so extra.

0:26 - OH LOOK THE FIRST SUNSHINE SIGHTING OF SEASON TWO!!! It only took 8 episodes. *insert eyeroll*

0:40 - Ugh. This montage makes me hate Hoxley. He embodies the type of human I abhor: self-important, egotistic, obsessed with appearance.

1:19 - “No I didn’t.” LMAO. Mr. David is so done with Martin’s bullshit.

1:36 - That makeshift shiv in the dude’s arm.....that’s Daryl’s shiv from a few episodes ago right? Am I going crazy?

 2:25 - Sooooo Birdie hasn’t left New York? She’s moved into the Milton’s “Murrayville Building”. Huh. Wait. Was Birdie in the house when Malcolm and Ainsley fought? Do you think she heard?!? Birdie might become a problem for the Whitly’s later this season....I hope?

2:43 - Jessica doesn’t know about the contents of the fight. Interesting. How long has it been since the end of 2x7? 

2:58 - “I’ll be there at 8.” hahaha OMG. I swear Malcolm was a terror during his ‘rebellious teenager’ phase.

3:38 - Yep. This fog horn reinforces the fact that I believe Hoxley is a dick. 

3:40 - Awww.... the way Malcolm jumps/flinches at the fog horn is both hilarious and adorable.

3:58 - “And who the hell are you?” YES GIL. YES. Don’t let him talk like that to Malcolm <3

4:04 - Duuuuude. Gil looks pissed and scared. He does not like Europol snooping around his crimes. ALSO I’m like 95% sure that Gil knows (or at least has a hunch) that Malcolm is somehow involved with Endicott’s murder. I’m pretty sure Gil is scared that this dude is going to try and arrest Malcolm. 

4:07 - OMG. JT is adorable. “You’re that guy. The mind sleuth.” Personal headcanon: JT read Hoxley’s book to try and understand Malcolm better. 

4:22 - DANI IS MY QUEEN. SHE IS MY ICON. I LOVE HER SO FREAKING MUCH. “No.” This girl is fierce. <3

4:23 - <3 <3 Malcolm’s heart eyes, head tilt, and visible pride is so so so precious. THIS is why he’s attracted to Dani. She’s not afraid to assert herself. 

4:31 - “And then took in his son.” ....Okay, so this infuriated me. Nothing Hoxley is saying is untrue. BUT something about the way he’s saying it just gets under my skin. 

4:45 - I think Hoxley is pissing me off so much because he’s psychoanalyzing Malcolm in front three of the people Malcolm trusts and loves most in the world (3 out of a very very short list of people). He’s trying to humiliate Malcolm and I hate it. I hate that Dani, JT, and Gil haven’t told Hoxley to shut up. I hate that Hoxley is trying to drive stakes of doubt into the three people whose opinion Malcolm treasures. 

5:25 - “Aim a little lower, Whitly.” and and and.....then Hoxley looks to the team as though he wants them to laugh. I’m furious. 

5:32 - THANK YOU GIL. STEER THE CONVERSATION AWAY FROM MALCOLM

6:04 - Malcolm is so obvious. There’s no way that the team doesn’t know that he was involved with Endicott’s murder. If they didn’t before this episode - they HAVE to know now. Right? They’re detectives. Malcolm is a terrible liar. 

7:00 - Oh. So now Ainsley cares about the crime. Now it’s “how much trouble are we in”. And let’s be real. Ainsley doesn’t even seem very worried or scared. She’s concerned that the crime will get out - she’s not sorry she committed the crime. She’s not sorry that her big brother tried to take the fall for her. 

7:15 - “We said no more secrets.” ...when. When did you two say that? Was there a ‘fight part 2 - the tentative truce’ that we didn’t get to see?

7:33 - A mention of Sophie Sanders. Finally. I still hope she comes out of the woodwork and takes the fall for this. I want more closure on her. Did the team ever find out that Malcolm found her? How did the Eddie murder finally get resolved (I’m not satisfied with the “not every case gets solved” line)?

7:42 - Yo. I don’t care about the time constraint of a 45 minute episode. I don’t care that it was required to move the plot along. The fact that Ainsley starts typing frantically into the computer at about 7:42, stops typing at 7:47ish and has found at least 4 different articles relating to murdered random people (who apparently helped hide Endicott’s body?) is SO UNREALISTIC. I just can’t. I can’t suspend my disbelief on this one. The article headlines say nothing about ‘couriers’. It’s stuff like ‘Local fisherman found dead’. HOW THE HELL WOULD AINSLEY KNOW THEY WERE HELPING MALCOLM IN LESS THAN 10 SECONDS OF GOOGLING?!? Nope. I can’t justify this one. Fedak - you dropped the ball.

8:40 - Poor Malcolm looks terrified. :( 

9:04 - My first impression of Natalie was that she’s a beautiful young lady who seems really sweet and a little socially awkward. Kudos to the actress.

9:41 - Another mention of Sophie. God - I hope she becomes a twist in this season’s storyline. I’m not content with how her story arc ended. 

10:21 - “I didn’t have anything to do with Endicott’s death and neither did Jessica.” Yep. Gil definitely knows (or at least suspects) that Ainsley and Malcolm are somehow involved with Endicott’s murder. It’s killing me that we’re not getting the big “team and/or Gil find out and/or confront Malcolm about it” moment. 

10:31 - OMG. Alan Cumming’s eyebrow wag here. hahahahaha

10:35 - Look at how pissed off Gil is as soon as Hoxley suggests that he and Jessica have a romantic history. 1) Gil still has it bad for Jessica (and is hurt that she rejected him again 2) Gil’s a pretty private dude and probably doesn’t like his personal business being speculated upon by a total stranger with ill intent 3) Gil is also getting protective of the Whitly’s. Not just Jessica but Malcolm (and maybe Ainsley) too. 

10:58 - Europol agents aren’t allowed to make arrests?!? THEN WTF IS THE POINT OF HOXLEY’S CHARACTER?!? TO DRIVE DOUBT INTO THE MINDS OF THE TEAM WITH REGARDS TO MALCOLM?!? FOR REAL. WHY?! TO FORCE GIL TO ARREST MALCOLM AND AINSLEY?!?!

11:08 - “To watch you put the cuffs on Mr.Endicott’s killer. Deal?” “Deal.” oooooooohhhhhh no. I do not like the foreshadowing here. If Gil has to arrest Ainsley and/or Malcolm.....idek. Part of me wants to watch it for the emotional whump (of all parties - including Jessica). Part of me wants to ugly cry at the thought of it though.

11:39 - “How do you know so much about yachts?” ....THANK YOU JT. DANI HAS A STRANGE AMOUNT OF NAVAL KNOWLEDGE IN THIS EPISODE AND WE ALL KNOW “I watch a lot of Below Deck” IS UTTER HORSE CRAP. Ugh. I want to know more about Dani and JT’s personal lives. So. Badly. 

11:44 - <3 <3 <3 The look Malcolm and JT exchange when Dani claims that she watches a lot of Below Deck is absolutely precious. It’s like they’re best friends and/or brothers. They both knew Dani was lying. <3

11:54 - “At least he’s the real deal.” Ouch. I honestly can’t tell if JT is just teasing Malcolm here or if JT genuinely believes this. ....Is this JT’s way to letting Malcolm know that he has suspicions about his involvement with Endicott’s death?

12:06 - “Says the guy who bought his book.” HA. Dani is on fire this episode. The snark queen. Look at how pleased Malcolm is that Dani is defending him. <3 Warms my cold dead heart.

12:09 - annnnndd now JT is definitely teasing Malcolm. “What our boy Bright needs is a moniker.” hahaha watching Dani and JT come up with stupid profiler monikers was so cute. I love it when the team gangs up to (lovingly) tease Malcolm.

12:30 - “No. Nothing yet.” Again - Malcolm is a terrible liar. The team must know that he’s involved with this thing. They’re detectives. 

12:59 - Martin’s physical reaction to Malcolm saying, “No. That woman does not deserve to die.” Is HILARIOUS. Martin is so freaking desperate for Malcolm to become a serial killer that he doesn’t even care the Ainsley has already murdered someone. 

13:19 - “He has a perfect track record.”.....what? So does that mean he’s solved every case he’s ever worked on? Taken credit for solving every case he’s ever work on? Hand picked the cases he works on so he knows he can solve them? Probably a combination of the above. Sometime about Hoxley reminds me of Gilderoy Lockhart from Harry Potter. You feel me?

13:23 - The fact that Tom Payne (a Brit) is being told that Hoxley has “perfect teeth. For a Brit” by a Welsh man is hilarious.

13:34 - Does this fish packing joint have no security?!? Like Malcolm didn’t have to pick a lock or anything. He just walked right in (and he’s not being quiet).

13:51 - “I can think ruthless. I don’t know if I can be ruthless.” THIS. THIS is Malcolm in a nutshell. Think about Nicky Covington. Malcolm wanted to act ruthless but he couldn’t. He ended up saving Nicky because he couldn’t go through with his ruthless plan. That’s the difference between Malcolm and (quite frankly) the rest of his family. Jessica, Martin, and Ainsley can all be ruthless. All of them. Jessica on a lesser degree but Martin and Ainsley are confidently ruthless. Often.

13:57 - Ok. For real though. HOW HAS NO ONE OVERHEARD THESE PHONE CALLS BETWEEN MARTIN AND MALCOLM. THE PHONES HAVE TO BE TAPPED RIGHT?!? IN A SECURE MENTAL INSTITUTION FOR MURDERERS?!? and I stg that Mr. David knows things. That man is not a moron and he’s pieced stuff together (not from this scene obviously, but still).

14:13. - “Why don’t I break out.” The fact that Malcolm hasn’t mentioned that Martin wants to escape to anyone (since 2x4) is really stressing me out. I know Martin’s going to break out - the promos have made that very obvious but I’m still anxious about it. Mostly I’m worried for the health and safety of Malcolm (and Gil, Jessica, Dani, JT, Edrisa...).

14:17 - “We all go on the run together.” Martin is delusional. He thinks that the whole family will go on the run with him?!?!?  He might be able to convince Ainsley. He might be able to blackmail or threaten Malcolm. BUT Jessica? She’s not going willingly. Hell - she might kill him herself if Martin escapes and tries to come near her (which.....I would actually kind of like to see).

14:48 - The fact that Malcolm apologizes to a corps is so precious. Really reinforces the fact that Malcolm is not a killer. 

15:00 - Oh look. Another scene for Malcolm’s nightmares. “The time I cut off a dead guy’s thumb to protect my sister”

15:24 - annnndd Malcolm is really close to having a panic attack. Look at that face. :( Someone give this guy a hug. Please.

15:34 - Where the HELL is Edrisa!?!?!?

15:42 - Malcolm, you utter moron. What possessed your stupid ass to show up at a crime scene with a soaking wet arm and draw attention to your arm by shaking it?!?! WHEN THE BODY WAS JUST DRAGGED OUT OF A VAT OF WATER. AND YOU TAMPERED WITH THE BODY?!!? YOU DUMBASS. 

15:52 - This is Gil - terrified. He’s scared because 1) he knows Malcolm is lying , 2) he’s concerned for Malcolm’s mental health and 3) he’s starting to think that either a) Malcolm killed this guy, b) Malcolm knows who killed this guy and is obstructing justice, or c) Hoxley is going to pin this on Malcolm and Gil won’t be able to save him.

16:14 - “I’m never buying frozen fish again.” hahaha Dani is killing it this episode. <3

16:23 - Check out how Gil is staring at Malcolm. Gil totally thinks Malcolm has the thumb.

16:50 - “Older model” Shit. Seriously? Are finger print scanners on phones old?!? My phone isn’t that old......I got it 6 years ago? 

17:16 - MALCOLM IS A TERRIBLE LIAR. Honestly, the pure terror on his face throughout most of this episode screams “I KNOW SOMETHING ABOUT THE MURDER.” If the team hasn’t pieced this together yet they’re not worthy of being detectives.

17:29 - I’m not going to lie. I had to fast forward through the Martin/Capshaw scenes for the rewatch. I find them so upsetting to watch. I just can’t do it more than once. Their whole dynamic is gross, creepy, and just ugh. 

20:00 - Jessica and Hoxley talking about Endicott’s death is so satisfying. 

20:35 - “Jessica Whitly. Played for a fool. Yet. Again.” Ok Hoxley. You are not allowed to disrespect my girl Jessica like that. 

21:10 - The biggest problem with Jessica and Gil’s “mock interrogations” by Hoxley is that neither of them mention Ainsley or Malcolm. It’s super suspicious. They mention other people by name. People who should be connected to Ainsley and/or Malcolm given the context of the sentence. Hoxley is a moron for not nailing Ainsley and Malcolm for the crime during this episode. It’s so so so obvious.

21:19 - hahahahahahahaha Jessica grabbing the martini out of Hoxley’s hands. hahahahaha I stan.

21:35 - annnnnd Jessica is a terrible liar as well. Seriously - why doesn’t she just say “ENDICOTT WAS KILLED OVER HERE!!”. Another parallel between her and Malcolm though. Malcolm + Jessica can’t lie well. Ainsley + Martin are expert liars.

22:54 - Again. Ainsley is intrigued at the fact that Malcolm has a thumb in his freezer. Much like Martin would be if he knew. Jessica on the other hand shares Malcolm’s fear and disgust about the situation.

23:00- “We”?!!?!? AINSLEY YOU HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING. MALCOLM HAS BEEN COVERING FOR YOUR ASS. YOU JUST HAVEN’T TURNED YOURSELF IN AFTER YOU REMEMBERED. THAT’S YOUR ONLY CONTRIBUTION TO THE “KEEPING ENDICOTT’S MURDER A SECRET” SITUATION. 

23:07 - “Do you even see what you are doing to him.” This line both terrified and delighted me. On one hand - I’m grateful that Jessica can see how much emotional pain Malcolm is in because of this situation. One the other hand - Ainsley looks pissed that Jessica is blaming her for Malcolm’s general brokenness. If Ainsley goes full serial killer - Malcolm is going to be on her list. “The brother that overshadowed her.” “The favourite child” “The reason she had to be a perfect daughter” “The reason she was ignored”

23:32 - “Got it.” Damn. Ainsley is bitter. She wants to control this situation. She doesn’t like taking orders from Malcolm. 

25:00 - MR.DAVID IS RIGHT THERE. IF HE DOESN’T BLOW THE WHISTLE ON THIS I’M GOING TO BE SO DISAPPOINTED. 

25:12 -”The Brain Fart” hahahahaha OMG. 

25:53 - “You’re being rude Hoxley.” ......Martin being the nice guy? I’m genuinely disgusted.

26:26 - “Your son Malcolm.” THIS. THIS is why Ainsley is so pissed off. Everyone has always thought Malcolm would turn out like Martin. Ever since they were kids. She’s pissed off that no one considers her to be a threat. They’re all concerned for and scared of Malcolm. Not her. She’s invisible. Why do you think she became a TV reporter? To force people to see her. 

26:50 - I’ve never wanted to Martin to kill anyone more than I have in this moment. I do find Martin’s protective love for Malcolm interesting though. 

27:37 - How long was that phone in water before Malcolm grabbed it?!? Anyone ever drop a phone in water? I don’t care how much rice you have. It’s toast 90% of the time. 

27:44 - Malcolm explaining murder to Sunshine is so cute. 

28:22 - And my heart rate has skyrocketed. 

29:10 - “To protect your sister.” Huh. I find it interesting that Hoxley has considered that Malcolm may have killed Endicott to protect Ainsley. It suggests that he thinks Endicott was a threat to Ainsley alive. Makes me wonder about what happened to Ainsley before Malcolm got back to the house in 1x20.

29:16 - “You all had something to gain.” Did they though? Martin had something to gain - keeping his cushy Claremont cell. Ainsley had something to gain - “A news story.” Jessica had something to gain - “safety”. But Malcolm? He didn’t personally have anything to gain. He wanted his Mom and sister safe but he never thought about himself. 

30:11 - “Perhaps the murder weapon is still among your mother’s silver.” I find it interesting Hoxley has pieced that together. I also find it highly unbelievable but that’s just me. 

30:15 - Hoxely, rich people don’t carve their own Christmas roasts. The Whitly’s have staff for that. 

30:24 - “You’re still just a scared little boy. Hungry for daddy’s love.” Ouch. It’s true but it still hurts. This is not helping Malcolm’s mental state. At all. Istg if we don’t get a Malcolm mental health crisis soon I’m going to have my own mental health crisis. Seriously. I want to see this boy lose it. I’m a monster. I know. I want ugly crying. I want panic attacks. I want him to go catatonic. I want someone to comfort him. 

32:35 - Nat’s a good liar. Very convincing. Too bad Malcolm’s a good profiler. 

33:53 - Check out Spider Monkey Malcolm. <3 

34:14 - Earlier this episode when Malcolm said he can think ruthless but not be ruthless? This is the proof. He could’ve sat back and let Natalie kill Hoxley. In some ways - it would be good for Malcolm. But Malcolm’s not ruthless. He values human life. He’s an A+ dude. For better or for worse he tries to help people.

34:26 - Really Hoxley? Do you plan on stabbing Malcolm?!? (FYI - this scene is very reminiscent of Lockhart pulling his wand on Harry and Ron in the Chamber of Secrets #justsaying).

34:45 - “I’m going to be killed by a millennial. What a twist.” hahahhahahahahhaa

35:22 - “I’m British.” hahaha I love this scene so much.

37:14 - FINALLY THE PAPA!GIL CONTENT WE”VE BEEN WAITING FOR. (it’s weak but I’ll take it)

37:39 - AHHHH the fact that Gil and Malcolm are both non-verbally communicating that Natalie didn’t kill Endicott is killing me. Does Malcolm think that Gil hates him? Does Gil really think Malcolm killed Endicott? Or just that Malcolm covered it up? I NEED TO KNOW.

37:46 - Concerned!Gil and a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. <3 <3 <3 My icy heart has melted. 

37:54 - annnnnd Hoxley ruins the moment.

39:39 - I’m not content with this ending. It’s all too convenient. Hoxley still thinks Ainsley and Malcolm did it. Mark my words. This isn’t over.

39:53 - Ainsley is so smug here. I want to slap her. She’s elated that she’s getting away with murder. She doesn’t care about how it’s hurting her family. 

40:00 - Did they really do the interview inside Jessica’s house?!?! Gross. 

40:17- I might be the only one but I love that polo on Malcolm. Something about it is adorable. 

40:22 - ......is Ainsley really trying to take credit for “putting this Endicott mess behind us”?!?! Because - she didn’t. OMG. She absolutely didn’t. Even if she did - she’s the reason they’re in the mess to being with!!!!!!! I can’t. I just....can’t. 

40:45 - The episode ends right here for me. I know Capshaw and Martin kiss. It makes me want to hurl and I refuse to watch it again. I also know that Capshaw takes the scissors away from Martin. I think their whole dynamic is upsetting and creepy. I’m like 95% sure that Capshaw is a serial killer on the DL. Or at least some sort of psychopath. Martin and Capshaw are both manipulating each other and it’s too stressful to watch. 

I didn’t love this episode. It was a bit all over the place. If you stuck around this long - thank you. I’ll see you guys next week. <3

#jess-rewatches-prodigal #malcolm bright #prodigal son #gil arroyo #dani powell #JT Tarmel #ainsley whitly #martin whitly #edrisa tanaka #jessica whitly #I LOVE this show #whump #rewatch #spoliers #malcolm needs a hug #ps #so good #ouroboros #2x8 #2x08 #s2 #e8 #alan cummings #simon hoxley

[asunshinepuff]

Secrets of the Darkened Seas

🧜🏻‍♀️ Hello! Welcome to chapter three! Please please please give a like and follow to my co-author and best friend Luna ( @ladynightmare913 ) because this story would not be where it’s at without her help!

She’s incredible and deserves so much credit for working on this alongside me cause she works so hard. And I feel horrible that she isn’t getting the credit deserves.

Especially since this chapter includes some of her own ocs in addition��to my own! There’s a lot of new faces to join us! All credit for creation goes to each other for our respective characters because we’ve both worked so hard to create our ocs and I wouldn’t dare want to take credit away from her.

As always, a reminder that there is some lore included within this, however, it will be explained over time so no worries. There’s no mention of lore for right now.

The Included lore on different types of merfolk will be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose. We will not take credit for it’s writing. It’s a childhood book of mine that I adore dearly and sincerely think you should all check out!

Also! Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list so that you don’t miss a new chapter!

Anyways, that’s about it. I hope you enjoy!

If you’ve missed any chapters here’s the link to the masterlist for this story Secrets of the Darkened Seas 🧜🏻‍♀️

Small warning at the start here, there is a minor character death included in this chapter.

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Chapter 3: A Sea of Fireworks

Three years passed as The Dragon’s Pearl sailed the seven seas. There had been many fierce battles and grand adventures as Remus learned the ways of the sword from both Captain Hua and First mate Sandoval. During the past few years, Remus found a particular fondness for literature that grew further than when he was younger. Along the way, there have been many new companions to join the shipmates, and the secrets of a certain young man were revealed. A year on his own at sea taught Remus many things, but he couldn’t help but miss the company of those upon The Dragons’ Pearl. 

Now at seventeen summers old, the once young boy has grown into a fine young man. 

Under the sea, there was a mythical creature with bright shimmering amber scales, varying in shades of accent tones from the top of his tail, to his fluke. The moonlight breached the surface of the darkened sea, the light reflected off of his amber eyes, as if they began to shine and glow under the moon’s pale beauty. His medium length tawny colored hair flowed around him in the cool waters. The mer turned down before his arms moved forwards as he dived down deeper into the sea. The deeper he went, the darker it became. 

As he reached the seafloor, he swam at a leisurely pace, brushing a clawed hand against the seagrass. Looking up, the seagrass became littered with life, crabs, small, fish, seahorses, an octopus, and coral. He chuckled to himself as the fish scattered when he swam near them, a green sea turtle by his side seemed to follow him, wherever he went. It had felt too long since he had last been in the sea. 

Remus’ head turned sharply upwards as he picked up the sound of a muffled screeching noise coming from the surface. Then a muted bang before a flash of scattered gold light. With a strong flick of his tail, the floor beneath him vanished from sight as he neared the surface. 

Breaching from the water, he looks up to the familiar ship with concern, “Opal! What’s happening?!” He yells up to the deck. 

In an instant, a tall beautiful greek woman, around the age of twenty-three, with long light brown hair, hazel green eyes, lightly tanned skin peered over the railing of the deck to respond. She was dressed in a sea-blue off the shoulder long-sleeved shirt that was tucked into her light brown pants, with a black corset vest on top, and black boots. At her hip was a wide sword with a dark blue sheath, and its hilt had the detailing of a trident. 

“Min-Jun received a letter! We have to make port in Portland! The Blacks and Greyback were spotted off the coast of Dorset!” She lowers the rope ladder and opens the small gate, “Get your tail up here!”

Remus catches the ladder with ease and pulls himself up onto it, “What’s the sudden hurry? We’re currently off the coast of Dorset ourselves.” He comments, looking back up to his friend. 

“Quinn’s family lives in Portland, he thinks they’ll be going after them!” Opal replies, tossing down a blanket for Remus to dry his scales with.

Remus winces as the blanket lands upon his head, frowning as it blocks his view. Pulling the soft cloth from his head, he sets to work on drying himself and his scales, “But why would they go after his family?” He yells out. 

Opal pauses, a somber look upon her face as she watches Remus make his way up the rope ladder with his two legs, scales now nowhere to be seen. She shakes her head as he reaches the deck, “I don’t know. But I think something’s wrong.”

Two-quarters of an hour pass with The Dragon’s Pearl sailing at full speed to Portland. The sea seemed to be at their side that night, the sound of cannon fire reached the members of the crew. The lifeboats were lowered with First mate Sandoval and Remus inside one of the boats. 

Remus’ eyes widened when he saw the pitch-black sails of The Ophiuchus which could barely be seen from a distance. The ship’s colors had a black flag with a white skull with a snake coming out of an eye socket. The Blacks. The ancient pirate ship passed down from generation to generation of Blacks. Rumors and tales continuously traveled from sailors aboard many ships about the family, the ship gaining the nickname of Grimmauld amongst the gossiping sailors. Remus had heard many tales himself in the past. 

The Blacks were ruthless in their pliage for gold, leaving no survivors. There were tales of The Ophiuchus battling The Dragon’s Pearl when Captain Orion Black attempted to steal the other Captain’s ship. Although Captain Hua was young, he forced the Blacks to flee when their ship suffered too much damage. The Captain of The Dragon’s Pearl had given them a warning years ago that should he ever see them again, he would kill the Captain of The Ophiuchus.

The boats reached the docks before everyone ran up to the small town of Portland. Quinn cut down any pirate who foolishly stood in his way. Remus followed close behind, sword drawn at the ready, and cut down any pirate who tried to go after Quinn whilst the man’s back was turned. Remus had grown used to the occasional battle, but hardly ever were the stakes this high. Opal and Captain Hua had stayed on the ship with a skeleton crew, while the other sailors joined Remus and Quinn to shore. 

Remus stopped in his tracks when one of the pirates was running straight for him. With the sword in his hand, Remus quickly stabbed the pirate in the abdomen before pulling his sword free and running to catch up with Quinn. Who was running up a hill towards the Lighthouse faster than Remus had ever seen the man move. 

Up close the lighthouse was rather beautiful for its old age, time had been kind to it, yet the years have clearly made their marks all throughout the house. The lighthouse more than likely had many stories to tell. Standing tall with red and white patterns, a small quaint cottage at the base of the lighthouse became visible as Remus neared the property. The house was alight with shadows dancing across the windows as pirates breached the door, the sound of clanging swords could be heard coming from inside the house. Quinn cut down pirates until he finally managed to enter the house. 

Quinn’s eyes widened as he surveyed the state of the house, there were countless pirates from both the Black’s and Greyback’s sailors engaged in sword fights. There was hardly a break as he entered the fray of battle, cutting down unsuspecting men from behind and never letting his guard down.

A middle-aged woman with black hair tied into a messy bun, bright brown eyes, fair skin, and rosy lips gripped the rapier in her hand tightly as she slashed down another pirate. She twirled expertly, her white nightgown and dark robe twirling with her, to dodge a blow from another pirate before she stabs them, she pulls the sword free before she raises it to the man who just entered the cottage, freezing as her eyes widen in surprise. “Quinn!” She exclaimed before her eyes darted to a pirate behind him who began to stir awake. 

He smiles at the exclamation before following her line of sight, turning behind him he sees the pirate that began to stir awake. Flipping the hilt of his sword in hand, he stabs the newly conscious pirate in the chest before turning back to the woman, “Mother are you alright?” He looked over the cottage, objects just laying scatter on the floor before he looked back to his mother. 

“I’m perfectly alright, it’s your father I’m worried about, that blasted Greyback cornered him to the basement!” The woman turned her gaze to the young man who just reached the door, quickly assessing him before offering him a small nod. “And you must be Remus.”  

Remus nods in return, “I am. How did you-” He cuts himself off as the answer was obvious and gives his First mate a pointed look, “Quinn. You’ve told them about me haven’t you?”

“Remus. Who do you take me for? Of course, I did.” Quinn mirrors the same pointed look back, “How else do you think Min-Jun and I were able to help you as a child?” He looks back to his mother, “We better move quickly. Hopefully, father is using the basement to his advantage.”

“Quinn, this is your father, of course, he is.” The woman turns to a door that leads to a staircase to the basement. Quickly lifting her skirt the woman rushed down the stairs. 

The three rush down the stairs and into the large dimly lit basement, which could only be described as a very large study with storage. Bookshelves lined the walls and the shelves themselves were stacked with a variety of mythical things one would only believe to be within the tales. Color bottles and vials littered the shelves of the room, various plants were in every corner of the room. In the center of the basement, a large man with a cutlass scoured the room with a harsh glare for the man who was hiding. 

The man wielding the cutlass was large, nearly the height of Min-Jun and Quinn, he had a vicious looking face, with very long matted grey hair in dreads, a scar going across his right eye, the iris pale compared to its twin which was pitch black. His left ear had a gold hoop earring, his teeth were visible as he sneered at others who interrupted his dual. 

Remus’ eyes could only widen as he looked upon the large man, his breathing quickening and grip tightening on his sword. Every part of him grew defensive and fearful, his instincts screaming at him to get out. To run. He’s heard of this man before, Fenrir Greyback, a notorious and ruthless hunter of mers alike, capturing and selling mers for profit, or simply to just experiment on them. Other times he’d simply slaughter any merfolk he could find.

Greyback’s knuckles looked raw and battered with blood as he gripped his weapon tightly, his long yellowish nails were easily spotted as his right hand pressed against his chest, a wound with fresh blood seeping through his grey shirt. “This isn’t over.” He snarled before he ran out the basement door. 

Hidden behind a bookcase, was a middle-aged man with tousled red-brown hair with long bangs parted to the left, light-colored skin, and blue eyes. He wore a simple navy blue shirt underneath a grey robe, light brown pants, and dark brown boots. Eyes trained as he watched the burly man closely, sword drawn at the ready to continue the duel. He made no motion to move as Greyback snarled in warning, back pressed flush against the wood until he could hear the pounding footsteps a safe distance away. 

Relaxing marginally, he exits his retreat behind the bookcase and sighs, “That man is repulsive.” He mutters under his breath.

“You’re not wrong about that father.” Quinn chuckles as he gently pats his father’s shoulder. 

“Why would Greyback come all the way out here? Why would he attack you?” Remus looked at the older man.

“Probably because my husband has something he wants.” The older woman looks to her husband. “Are you alright?”  

The older man looks to his wife and nods, “I’m alright. If anything Greyback’s in much worse shape. That wound is going to leave quite a scar if untreated.”

“What was he after?” Remus looked between the older couple. 

“Something no one should know exists.” The woman looked around the room. Muttering under her breath at the state of the room. “But rumors are a powerful thing, especially when they hold truths.” 

“And especially if it makes you incredibly well known in the nautical world.” The man continued with a sigh. Moving aside his robe, he pulls free a rather thick leather book from an inner pocket and looks down at it. “He’d be a fool to think I’d just leave it lying about.”

Remus’ eyes looked over the leather book. At first glance, it was nothing out of the ordinary, but Remus knew better than to judge a book by its cover. It was what’s inside the book that Greyback took a slash to the chest in order to obtain. And failed. Whatever information that was contained inside the book was important. Why else would such a siege upon this small home occur? Enough to bring both Greyback and the Blacks themselves here. 

“This book is the only one in existence.”  The woman looked at Remus as she stood beside her husband. “It’s about your kind.” Gently taking the book from her husbands’ hands, she holds the book to Remus. “My husband wrote everything he learned about the magical creatures of the sea.” She smiles as she encourages Remus to take the book. 

“About my kind…” He repeats at a whisper before a realization comes to mind, amber eyes widening at the thought, “That’s why he wanted the book. To hunt more merfolk.” A cold shudder runs down his spine at the thought of Greyback getting his hands upon this book. No wonder the older man fought to protect it with his life. Mers alike would be in even more danger than in the past. And after seeing the man in person, Remus felt as though the rumors didn’t give any accurate insight as to how gruesome the pirate actually appeared, and the snarling tone of his voice would most likely echo in his mind for days. 

At the older man’s nod in confirmation, he looked back at him. “How long have you been working on this?” Remus asked as he took the book, with careful hands.

“Many years. I was a bit younger than you when I first started writing the beginning pages.”

Remus looks down to the worn leather book and opens to a well-kept page, Fantastic Nautical Creatures, by Newt Scamander. Remus’ eyes widen at the title and familiar name, pausing mid-turn of a page. Wait. Remus looks at Quinn with wide eyes, before he looks back to the older couple. 

“You’re Newt Scamander,” He looks to the woman, “And you’re Porpetina Scamander!” 

“Please, call me Tina dear.” She rubs Remus’ arm in a comforting manner. 

Remus looks to Quinn, an unreadable expression upon his face. Quinn had called them mother and father. That means… “You’re their son?!” 

“Quinton Scamander is my real name,” Quinn answered with a simple shrug. “Sandoval was the first thing I could come up with when you asked for my name. I’m not exactly used to keeping an alias.” He looks at his parents. “Why couldn’t you have just kept it at Quinn?” 

“And leave the Scamander tradition of giving horrible names? I couldn’t possibly.” Tina chuckled.

“Oh, you wound me, mother. What a way to keep tradition.” Quinn replies with a wince. 

“It’s not like my family did any better.” Tina retorts just as the sound of cannon fire boomed, echoing throughout the basement. Tensing, everyone turned their heads to the back door, and with a nod from Newt, they exited the damaged basement and headed to the cliffs.

As the group ran back towards the shoreline, Remus could see The Dragon’s Pearl exchanging cannon fire with The Ophiuchus. The ships both suffered blows from the other, only the Dragon’s Pearl wasn’t on fire. And what appeared to be Min-Jun, swinging on a rope, from the Ophiuchus back to the Dragon’s Pearl.

Quinn only groaned at the sight. “And he gives me lectures about swinging from a rope.” Hypocrite. “Why are you like this…” He mumbled under his breath.

Tina and Newt only chuckled as their son scowled at the captain. They ran to the docks just as the Ophiuchus began to make their retreat, and the Dragon’s Pearl making its way to the loading docks. Opal was the first rush down to welcome Quinn and Remus back. 

Quinn had a strange feeling, one that he couldn’t place as he looked over Opal. Relieved that the woman wasn’t injured in the crossfire, although he was well aware that she could easily handle herself. “Ti synévi?” What happened? he had asked.

“To shorten it: Min-Jun snuck onto Greyback’s ship and found two gorgónes. Mermaids. Brought them back to The Dragon’s Pearl, then snuck onto the Ophiuchus, rescued the second Black heir and brought him back as well.” Opal said with a shake of her head, “How that was possible, I have no idea.” 

“Sounds about right,” Newt replied with a chuckle.

The older couple looked at their son, who had never told them he learned and spoke greek. Newt and Tina looked at each other before sharing a knowing smile. Tina looked to the woman with the greek accent. “I’m Tina Scamander, Quinn’s mother. I wonder why my dear son would fail to mention a lovely lady such as yourself in his letters?” She turns her head slowly to glare at Quinn, who found the sea far more interesting at the moment. Tina looked back to the young woman. “What is your name dear?” 

Opal watched Quinn’s gaze quickly turn to the sea in embarrassment. Oh this awkward man. She fought the urge to tease the poor man, there was time to mess with him another time. Not in front of his parents. She smiled as she looked at Tina. “Opal Teresi. It’s nice to meet you.”

Remus looked to Quinn with a teasing smirk, “Really? You mention me in your letters but not Opal?” 

“Shut. Up.” Quinn says with wide eyes that seemed to promise pain with an unnaturally wide smile.

“You’ll have to write to me dear, Quinn hardly ever writes what’s going on in his life. I have to rely on Min-Jun for that.” She tsks she pats Opal’s hand affectionately.  

“I will,” Opal replies with a nod. 

“May I see them?” Newt asks the young woman. “The mermaids.” 

The young woman pauses for a moment and looks to Newt, “They’re terrified, so please. If there’s any way you could help.”

“Maybe I can get them to calm down?” Remus suggests looking to Opal and Newt. 

“That may be for the best.” Opal agrees, “We better hurry, Min-Jun wants to leave as soon as possible. Before the Blacks notice their son is missing.”  

Opal leads the group to the cabins, walking past many doors until they finally stop at one door with a circular window. Remus peered inside and froze when a pair of glaring eyes locked to his. Inside the room, there was a tall beautiful Asian woman with wet long dark brown hair, brown eyes, fair skin, and bright red lips. She looked to be about Opal’s age. Her tail was a dazzling array of soft blue scales that looked like misshapen spots, with white scales as the base, her fluke was nearly a translucent shimmery white. Her skin was pale, her arms were wrapped tightly around the smaller mer. Her tail coiled around them protectively. Remus nearly gasped. The mermaid only clutched the child tighter, her glare never leaving Remus’ face.

The mer in her arms was tiny. A child, who couldn’t have been older than four. The mer child had short soft silky black hair that was in disarray, brown eyes, light sun-kissed skin. The child clung tightly to the older mermaid's neck, their tail had pale teal and shimmery white scales with the same patterns as the older mermaid, safely tucked under her arms. The mer child’s shoulders were shaking, pearls littered the blankets beneath them. Tears. They sat alone in the room, laying on top of a few spare blankets for the cabin beds.

Remus’ gaze was pulled away at the sound of running footsteps, a sailor running past them in haste, to the infirmary. On impulse, Remus followed the sailor as they walked through the door. 

There Min-Jun sat on a chair, looming over a deathly still figure, his face pale. Min-Jun was holding the still figure’s hand. 

Remus gulped, scared to find out who the figure was. “Who…” 

Min-Jun looked up to see Remus. With pained eyes he looked back down to the figure. Gently putting the cold hand to rest on their chest. 

“Ethan’s dead.” 

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#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #quinn scamander #min-jun hua #opal teresi #newt scamander #tina goldstein #minor character death #mysterious mers #orion black #fenrir greyback #asunshinepuff ocs #ladynightmare ocs #our ocs #pirate captian #pirate and mermaid au